Harry Potter, The Orphan Who Survived
by Cain Crimson-Blade
Summary: A woman, dark as the night, finds a baby boy in a demolished house in a small village on Hallowe'en, 1981, and takes him to her home. Twelve years later, the Wizarding world gets back their saviour, but he is nothing like what they had assumed, or wanted. A boy filled with murderous intent and lethal skills, wizards and witches best beware the new menace they have gotten back.
1. Chapter 1

This is the original story of "Harry Potter, The Orphan Who Survived".

* * *

October 31st, All Hollow's Eve

A figure clad in flowing, black robes walked along the cobblestone road of Godric's Hollow. Even as the children and parents around him walked around happily, laughing and talking, filled with happiness, the man was set on a grim goal.

He kept walking, keeping his head bent to allow the hood to better conceal his features. He passed a pale, dark–haired woman who looked at him with a serious face, but said nothing. Thinking nothing of it, he continued onwards. Towards a house in the centre of the city.

It was neat, cosy and the lights shone warmth onto the street. The man looked at it for a minute, deciding his approach. He neared the door and as he was about to reach it, he withdrew a wand from his cloak. In a flash of light, the door was blasted into a million pieces.

Inside, a man with untidy, black hair and glasses was standing, holding a book and looking alert. His other hand was already in his pocket, gripping his wand. As the man saw the trespasser's face, his eyes widened and he immediately cast a stunning spell. The dark figure easily deflected the red light, after which the black–haired man turned and shouted up the stairs.

"Lily, take Harry and run! It's him!"

The dark figure waved his wand and a sickly green light flew out of it and hit the man, and with a look of horror etched in his face, the man slumped backwards and moved no more. Hearing a feminine scream from the first floor, the robed man moved towards the stairs. Almost flying up the stairs, he could hear the woman speaking quietly to someone.

He moved towards the room from where he could hear the woman. As he got closer, he could hear the crying of a baby. Moving ever forward, the man entered the room to see the fiery–haired woman at the crib, clutching the wooden bars that separated her from her baby.

"Harry," she whispered, "Harry, you are so loved. So loved. Harry, mama loves you. Dada loves you. Harry, be safe. Harry, be strong."

The man neared the woman. Hearing his footsteps, she whipped her head around. Her eyes were red, her face stained with tears and her voice cried out.

"No, please, not Harry! Please, kill me instead, but don't hurt Harry! Please!"

The man spoke in a cold, yet irritated voice: "Get out of the way, stupid girl! You don't have to die."

The woman kept begging him to spare her son. In the end, the man raised his wand once more and again cast the green light.

The woman fell over, dead before she hit the floor. The man turned to the crib. The little baby inside cried and wailed. The man chuckled slightly in a cold, dark manner, with a morbid humour.

"How ironic, Harry Potter. Ironic, that it will be your death that ensures my life."

The boy quieted down, looking at the robed man with large eyes. The man stood and gazed at the boy for a while. Without a word, the man pointed his wand at the young boy. He looked with deadened eyes and spoke words dreaded all over Great Britain:

"Avada Kedavra."

The sickly green, bright light filled the room, bathing it in a cascade of jade and emerald.

•••

A woman with pale skin and dark hair walked down the streets of the small town, when she felt a powerful and malign presence. Looking up, she spotted a man in dark robes walking in the opposite direction of herself. As he passed her, she saw his eyes gleam a dark red.

She felt a shift, a slight dizzy and cold creep up her spine. The dark sensation, the bloodlust radiating off this man was significant, though in no way overwhelming. Intrigued by the sinister thoughts pulsing through his head, spiralling around a boy and a prophecy of some kind, she quietly followed.

The man led her to a small townhouse. He violently entered and killed a man right inside the door. As she quietly disguised herself from human perception, she silently walked up the path to the front door. She heard a woman screaming, pleading for someone named Harry to be spared. After a few seconds, she saw a green light coming from the room and the voice went quiet, and a small thump indicated the woman had fallen.

She stood there for a little while longer, waiting in morbid curiosity. After a while, she heard a man yell something that sounded like 'abra cadabra', and there came another green light. At the very second it started to fade, a sheen of red energy glimmered from the window, and the room was blasted open, the wall blown apart.

The woman outside hurried in and up the stairs. She passed a dead man and some broken furniture, arrived up there to find the body of a dead woman next to a crib where a baby sat. His face was stained with tears as he looked at the woman, and a very recent, yet unbleeding, wound in the shape of a lightning bolt was on his forehead. As she entered, his head turned towards her and his emerald eyes looked directly into her dark ones. She felt his gaze pierce her obfuscation and peer into her soul.

Her centuries long dead heart "skipped a beat", and she felt so sorry for the boy. It had been hundreds of years since she last felt compassion, but this defenceless toddler had instantly placed himself in her heart. She walked over to the crib and slowly picked him up, holding him close to her neck, which she warmed just for him. He latched on and rested his head against her neck. He didn't cry or scream. He just let her take him.

The woman looked around the house, taking things she assumed could be heirlooms. She grabbed a few picture albums, some of the woman's jewellery, the man's watch, some general books and some framed photographs. She knew the boy would want to know about his family when he became older, as humans tended to cling onto the past and their family. The least she could do was bring some mementos for him. Other than that, she took some of his clothes and playthings, bottles and other necessities. She packed it all into an old trunk wearing the name "James Potter".

Taking a last look around the house, she grabbed the trunk and carried the boy away, into the night. Just after she turned around the corner of the narrow street of cobblestone, she saw a gigantic motorcycle fly down from the sky, roaring in the stillness of the darkness. The woman turned and started walking away, the little boy sound asleep in her arms.

11 years later, June 25th, subterranean London

A 12–year–old Harry was sitting in the humongous library his mentor had built decades ago. Before him lay a monster of a book, circles, triangles and strange shapes drawn all over the page, with a bulk of text written in a nearly extinct language. He seemed to have no trouble deciphering it, as his eyes kept sweeping the text without pause. Harry closed his eyes for a few moments, and he remembered his nightmares that had plagued him for the past few years. A glint of green light and a man's voice shouting. He closed the book and pushed it away. He reached down to his right thigh and caressed the military–issue bayonet that rested in a holster there.

His mentor, Mistress Meerlinda, had taken him in as a toddler. She had raised him in this underground chantry where laid a practically endless library, and many locales for various purposes. Meerlinda had it built as her own, private dwelling in the 19th century, but it had become his home. Meerlinda was a vampire, or a Kindred, as they liked calling themselves. She was from clan Tremere, a powerful Kindred bloodline that specialized in the blood sorcery of Thaumaturgy, an adaption of House Tremere's hermetic magics from their mortal days, since they were rendered incapable of using it after their transformation.

Harry instantly detected the faint sound of his mistress opening the door to the library, and despite her mildly impressive skill at stealth, his keen hearing picked up on it effortlessly.

"They sent another letter this year," he heard the crystal–clear sound of his mistress' light, enchanting voice. "I think you could learn something from going."

"I'm not interested," Harry replied nonchalantly. "Besides, I doubt they could teach me anything useful."

"Harry," Meerlinda said and sat next to him. "The man you want to kill went there as well. You might learn more about your enemy from the teachers there."

Meerlinda was a woman whose beauty was leagues above the definition of the human term. Her raven–black hair cascaded down her back until it reached her waist, and her grey eyes held a certain allure that even Harry couldn't shake off, despite two centuries of exposure to them. And her face could only be described as one might describe an angel's divine radiance.

"Well, look at the downsides to your proposal," Harry countered. "First, I am literally centuries ahead of every other student in terms of… everything, really. Second, I doubt their magic could be of any help to me, what with the magic I already know. Third, I just might be tempted to kill some of them," Harry listed off, making it clear that he thought, not only would it be a waste of his time, but he would pose a potential danger to the school's population as well.

"You just have to reign it in. You're a brilliant actor," Meerlinda countered. "You could fool anyone there."

"Maybe," Harry conceded that point, "but that wouldn't mean that things couldn't go horribly wrong."

"Then I insist that you go," Meerlinda said calmly. "As your mistress, I order you to go there for at least one school year. If you still don't want it, I will let you off."

Harry glared at her, but her eyes made it impossible to maintain.

"Fine. I'll go."

"Fantastic," Meerlinda smiled and gripped Harry in a warm embrace, which Harry melted into.

Meerlinda might be a monster, but she raised him. Took him in and cared for him. Taught him everything he knew. Helped him with everything he wanted. Clothed him, fed him, gave him shelter. And above all, for whatever reason Harry could never hope to determine, loved him like a son, just as he'd come to lover her like a mother.

Diagon Alley

Harry was standing next to a pub called "The Leaky Cauldron". He'd seen it before, but he'd never gone inside. Through his correspondence with the school via the owl they sent, Harry had been informed that it was a front for the entrance to a street where wizards and witches could spend time amongst one another whilst hidden from the "Muggles", or ordinary humans. He was wearing dark jeans, a dark v–neck t–shirt and a dark utility jacket, crowned with dark shoes. Any human walking by would probably consider him a goth, but he'd always favoured black. It was the same colour as his and his father's hair. Then came red. His mother's hair–colour. And then green. His own and his mother's eye–colour. Meerlinda had described his parents to him, since she saw them as she took him from the house they lived in.

Harry heard a quiet 'clink' and looked up. Out of nowhere sprang an elderly man, with long, silvered hair and beard. He was wearing strange robes and bore half–moon glasses. Until his mistress' experimental ritual to enhance his body, Harry had needed glasses as well. He was thankful he didn't anymore. They became a bother in the long run. The elderly man studied Harry with surprised eyes, especially when he saw Harry's face completely void of emotions.

"You must be Albus Dumbledore," Harry said. He walked over and extended his hand to the man. "Harry Potter. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said with a small polite smile.

"The pleasure is mine, as well, Harry," Dumbledore returned with a smile and shook the boy's hand. "I have been looking forward to seeing you for a decade."

"So, shall we get to it?" Harry asked and opened the door to the pub and held it for the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Indeed we shall, thank you very much," he said as he entered, followed shortly by Harry.

As they walked through the pub, a few strange–looking fellows looked at them and were stunned into silence. Harry clearly heard a few of their whispers.

"_That's Albus Dumbledore! And that boy, he looks like… Potter!?_"

Harry ignored them, but as he and the old wizard left out the back and came to a wall, he questioned Dumbledore on it.

"How did everyone in there know my name, professor?"

"You are quite famous in the wizarding community, my dear boy," Dumbledore replied. "You defeated the greatest dark wizard our society has known at the age of one."

"About that. Who was the man who killed my parents?"

Dumbledore stopped and turned around. His face implied regret and sombreness.

"He called himself Lord Voldemort. He was a great wizard, but also the darkest Hogwarts ever produced."

"I see," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore pulled out a wooden stick, likely a wand, and poked the brick wall in front of them a few places, after which it opened and pulled away to reveal a bustling street. There were colours everywhere, fantastical things on display in windows and people going about their business merrily.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr Potter. The place you can buy everything you will need for your years at Hogwarts, and more."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, but instead of finding a stunned smile, he found nothing but Harry's cold, analytical gaze flittering about the street. Almost like an animal searching for potential threats. He also noticed Harry subtly sniffing the air, as if trying to find any scents that might belong to some hidden predator.

_Dear me…_

"Harry, are you alright?" Dumbledore asked with concern. "You seem… a little off."

Harry looked at Dumbledore for a few moments.

_Should I tell him? Eh, a little of it._

"I learned pretty quickly how to tap into my magic," Harry said bluntly. "I found out I could use it to enhance my senses fairly easily. That's why I don't need glasses anymore, either. I mean, if I lose my focus, I'm as blind as a mole, but I've gotten used to keeping up the magic."

Dumbledore was astounded. He'd never heard of such a use of magic before. To be able to use magic for something so… primal, was new to the old wizard. Something only a predator would need to learn.

Thinking nothing more of it, Dumbledore led Harry to the large, marble structure at the end of the main street.

"This is Gringotts. The bank where your parents stored their wealth."

"My parents were wealthy?" Harry asked, intrigued by this information.

"Wealthier than most, but far from the wealthiest," Dumbledore explained. "Some of your ancestors were savvy businessmen."

"I see," Harry replied with a small smile.

_Business, huh?_

They went inside and were padded by some wizards who carried silver rods. The one used to pat down Harry started vibrating when it came to his waist, and Harry mentally berated himself.

_Shit._

Dumbledore and the guards were surprised, and the one patting Harry down reached under his jacket and pulled out a spring–loaded folding knife. The three adults looked at him with shocked expressions. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"The streets of London aren't that safe," he explained with a somewhat embarrassed expression on his face. "Better safe than stabbed, right?"

The guards exchanged strange looks, until the one who pulled out the knife put said item in his pocket.

"Come collect it again when you leave," he said and padded Harry on the shoulder.

Harry nodded understandingly and went inside with Dumbledore. After the goblin named Griphook received Harry's vault key from the old wizard, they were led on a bizarre carriage ride, very akin to a rollercoaster, and landed at a certain vault. The goblin used Harry's key to open the door, and Harry saw the heaps of gold, silver and bronze lying in there. He looked at Dumbledore.

"Well, how much should I take?" he asked. "I don't know the worth of this currency."

Dumbledore smiled and used his wand to conjure a leather pouch, very medieval. He filled it with a handful of gold coins, a handful of silver coins and a handful of bronze coins.

"This should be more than enough to cover all your expenses. You might find a few extra things you would like, as well. You will grasp our currency soon enough, I am certain."

Harry nodded graciously and took the pouch. They left the bank, and Dumbledore gave Harry his key. And Harry retrieved his knife from the guard.

"I'll remember not to bring it next time," he apologised to the guard, who couldn't help but smile and ruffle Harry's hair.

"You look so very much like your father. It's a shame what happened to your parents. My condolences."

Harry smiled back and nodded, then turned back to Dumbledore and followed him. He straightened his hair back into a more presentable state.

"It would be advisable to get your school robes first, as they will require tailoring," Dumbledore commented.

"Robes it is," Harry seconded.

"If I may, you are very articulate and mindful of etiquette for a thirteen–year–old," Dumbledore told Harry. "Who taught you that?"

"My guardian," Harry answered, "Linda Watson. She's a teacher, with specialty in history, social studies and culture."

"I see," Dumbledore muttered. "I was worried when we couldn't find you in your parents' house. No one knew where you were. Just that you were alive."

"How did you even know that, anyway?" Harry asked, curious about the information.

"The Ministry of Magic has records that reveal when a magical child is born, and when a witch or wizard dies. You were born, but the records said you hadn't died."

"Oh," Harry said in understanding.

_That means they might be able to trace me as well._

"Is there a way to track a witch or wizard?"

"To an extent, yes. There is a trace on every magical child younger than seventeen, which reveals under–age magic."

_At least I know not to practice wizarding magic at home._

They came up on the shop, Madam Malkin's, and Harry entered alone. It wasn't long until the kindly woman had taken his measurements and made him a few sets of school uniforms. Harry paid the lady and left the store with his robes wrapped in brown paper. Dumbledore waited patiently outside. They then went throughout Diagon Alley and bought Harry everything he would need for the first while at school. All the while, Harry kept asking Dumbledore questions about the wizarding world, and Dumbledore patiently answered all of them. They were finished before noon, and Dumbledore graciously offered to have his most of his school supplies delivered to Harry's eventual dormitory, but he would have to bring at least one set of school robes, as he would have to wear them at the sorting ceremony. When Harry asked what it consisted of, Dumbledore replied with a knowing smirk and a 'you will see'. Harry was irritated by this, but didn't push it further.

September 1st, King's Cross Station

Harry was standing alone on the train station, black backpack hanging by his left shoulder. He was leaning against one of the pillars, listening for any chatter related to the school or wizard–kind in general. He quickly sifted through several dialogues, alert for certain keywords, most importantly 'Hogwarts'. His eyes closed in concentration, and they opened when his hearing honed in on a conversation.

"_Honestly, Ron, you can be such a prat at times!_" he heard a girl speak, no older than himself. "_Ginny went through Hell at Hogwarts last year, and you're warning her against having any boyfriends!?_"

Harry peeked his head around the edge of the column and located the girl ranting. She was about Harry's age, had long, brown, curly hair and was actually rather attractive. She was accompanied by people he assumed to be her parents. And surrounded by… **five** redheads? Clearly all related. Harry pushed off the column and discreetly followed them. None of them even thought to look around for any uninvited shadows.

_Civilians are so lazy and unaware. It's almost painful to watch._

Harry tailed them for a little, and then saw one of them start running headlong at a wall.

_You have got to be–_

And the redhead disappeared right into the wall.

_Well, fuck me._

Harry watched each of them run through, one–by–one. Until the red–haired girl was left with her parents. She seemed hesitant to go through.

"Come on, Ginny. Last year was an accident, you couldn't have done anything better than you did," her father reassured her.

"You will be safe from now on, sweetheart," her mother chimed in. "Dumbledore will make doubly certain that you will be out of harm's way."

Harry decided on his approach, and walked up to them.

"Ah, hello there," he said and rubbed the back of his head with feigned embarrassment. "I couldn't help but overhear your talk."

The redheads were on high alert.

"You mentioned the headmaster at Hogwarts, right?"

The man looked at his wife and daughter, and then turned all his attention to Harry.

"Yes, we did. Why?"

"Oh, it's just that I only recently came back to the country after a few years in America, and I received a letter to go to Hogwarts," he began, and the redheads seemed to calm down considerably. "But the teacher who took me to Diagon Alley forgot to mention how to get to the train. King's Cross doesn't have a platform…" he looked at the letter he'd fished out of his pocket, "Nine–and–Three–Quarters?"

The man chuckled lightly.

"Don't you worry about that, dear boy," he said merrily. "We'll show you how to get there."

"Thank you very much, Mr…"

"Arthur Weasley."

"Mr Weasley."

Arthur and Harry shook hands, and the woman stretched out her hand as well.

"Molly, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley."

"And this is our daughter, Ginevra," Arthur introduced the girl standing between them.

She looked embarrassed for the most part, but Harry instantly recognised the looked in her eyes. She had Post–Traumatic Stress Disorder. Harry couldn't help the words that blurted out of his mouth.

"What happened to you, Ginevra?"

She instantly looked him in the eyes, and a look of guilt and regret washed over her face.

"I've seen that look only in soldiers returning from war," Harry further commented, "traumatised from what they saw or what they did. You were a victim, weren't you?"

"Who are you?" she asked quietly.

"A victim, as well," he said and pulled away the hair covering his forehead, and revealing the scar located there.

The three all gasped in surprise. Harry let his hair fall once again.

"Harry Potter," he introduced himself and stuck out his hand to Ginevra. She shook it timidly, and her face became almost as red as her hair. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ginny."

Ginny turned around, grabbed her trolley, and sped through the wall that separated the wizards from the Muggles. The Weasley parents looked concerned after their daughter, and then turned back to Harry.

"Your daughter will be fine," Harry told them sombrely. "She has the look of a warrior in her eyes."

"Well, now that she isn't here, there is something I would like to ask of you, with utmost respect, of course," Arthur began. "Would you look out for her? She had a rough time last year, and a lot of her friends won't return her mail. I suspect they all blame her for what happened. But she doesn't know you. Would you please take care of our daughter?"

Harry smiled.

"Of course."

Both the adults sighed in relief.

"Well, let's get going. Can't miss the train on your first day, now can we?" Molly said joyfully.

"No, we most certainly can't," Harry replied.

He followed them through the portal, and was faced with a veritable sea of humans. Harry was a little overwhelmed at first, but quickly pushed his surprise back down. They guided him to the train, and Molly, in an act which caught Harry completely off–guard, pulled him into a bear hug.

"I am so happy we ran into you, sweet boy. I'm sure Ginny will be just fine with you looking after her."

Harry awkwardly padded her on the shoulder and smiled awkwardly at Arthur, who merely shook his head, as if saying 'there's no way around it'. The large woman let him go, and he smiled and waved them goodbye as he boarded the train. He walked through the halls, looking for an empty compartment. It wasn't until he found Ginny that he stopped. She was sitting next to the window and held her face in her hands. Harry hesitated for a moment, but opened the door and walked in.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit in here," Harry said quietly. "Everywhere else is full."

Ginny shot up straight and looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

"No, no," she said quickly, "it's fine."

"Great," Harry replied and sat down with his backpack next to him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both trying to figure out what to say. Ginny was freaking out on the inside. Here, right next to her, was sitting THE Harry Potter. The legendary hero, who saved the wizarding world as a toddler. Her greatest wish had been to meet him, to befriend him. Maybe even become his girlfriend. And now he was sitting next to her, reading a– Ginny didn't trust the item he was holding to be qualified as a book. More like an encyclopaedia, large enough to describe every animal species in the world.

"What are you reading?"

Harry looked up.

"A book about alchemy," he said casually. "It's a very interesting subject."

"You mean like 'philosopher's stone', alchemy?"

Harry's brow furrowed slightly.

"What makes you say that?"

She blushed a little.

"Two years ago, a philosopher's stone was being kept in the school. You–Know–Who was trying to get it, and it was only because of my older brother Ron and his friends Hermione and Neville that he didn't get it. Hermione told me that it's used to make an elixir of life, that makes you live longer."

Harry was quiet for a little.

"Well, I don't know what the stone itself can do, but alchemy **can** be used to extend a life indefinitely. It can do a lot of other things, too."

Ginny nodded, never taking her eyes off Harry.

"So what happened last year?" he asked out of the blue.

It was only then that Ginny turned her eyes away in shame.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"I understand," Harry said and returned his focus to his book.

"How could you–" Ginny was about to get angry, but remembered who was talking. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

"It's alright," Harry brushed it off. "It happened a long time ago. I've gotten over it. I don't even remember what happened."

They sat in silence a little while longer, and then they heard the whistle shrill, indicating the immediate departure of the train.

"Aren't you going to wave your parents goodbye?" Harry asked Ginny when he noticed she didn't move.

Ginny looked at him, but turned her head back.

"No."

"Fair enough."

The train started moving, and soon it was quickly moving away from the station. Suddenly, the door was slammed open, making both Harry and Ginny jump, although for entirely different reasons. Harry's hand was at his hip, behind his back, fingers itching to draw the folding knife clipped onto his belt out of reflexes. The open door revealed three other redheads and the brown–haired girl from earlier.

"Hey Gin, hope you don–" the youngest of the Weasleys was about to say, until he noticed Harry looking up at him, half standing and hand behind his back, reaching for something. "Who the Hell're you!?"

"Ron!" the girl next to him whined and slapped him on the back of his head. "You can't talk to strangers like that!"

The girl pushed her way past Ron and stuck out her hand to Harry, which he took, pulling his hand away from his hidden knife.

"Hermione Granger," she offered with a smile. "And you are?"

"Harry Potter," Harry replied. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Hermione."

All the other Weasleys' and Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

_Please don't–_

"THE Harry Potter!?"

_Fuck._

"Yes."

The older Weasleys made their way into the compartment and sat next to him and next to Ginny.

"Do you ha–"

"The scar, yes. I do," Harry said dryly and returned his focus to his book.

"Hey, what's with the attitude!?" Ron asked indignantly. "It was just a question!"

Harry put the book in his lap.

"That I've endured a hundred times so far. Forgive me if I don't like being the centre of attention," he said.

Ron almost laughed.

"You don't like attention!? You're kidding!?"

"Ron!" Hermione complained again, but Harry closed the book and stood up.

"No, I don't. And I don't like loud noise, either. Now, excuse me," he said as he grabbed his pack and walked out of the compartment.

Harry heard the arguments long after he left, so he sought out a compartment far away from it. Problem was, **everyone** was being noisy. He finally found a compartment that was nice and quiet, and only inhabited by a lone figure. A grown man sitting by the window, seemingly sleeping. Harry glanced at the trunk on the carrier above him and saw 'R. J. Lupin' written on the name tag. Harry sat down opposite the man, opened his book, and began reading again.

The Attack

A few hours later, once the darkness had descended over Great Britain, Harry felt the train suddenly brake.

_Fucking shit._

Harry felt the air getting colder, so much so that he saw his breath starting to fog. Harry heard nothing but silence. Until he heard something. A woman. A woman… screaming. He couldn't make it out, meaning she must have been very far down the train.

"Professor?" Harry called out to the sleeping man. "Something's wrong."

Despite being calm, Harry started feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time. A sense of… loss. Despair. Harry's rational thought was slowly being overpowered by this increasingly powerful sense of dread, something which only made him more afraid.

_This isn't right… something magical is going on._

The screaming woman's voice became increasingly louder.

"Professor!?" Harry called, his fear starting to climb to the surface.

Few things had the power to make him afraid, but he knew this wasn't natural fear. It was magically induced. But to him, that knowledge didn't make it any less frightening. Looking at the door, a large, cloaked _thing_ reached a slimy, skeletal hand out to open the door. The scream grew louder and louder, and Harry realized it was that creature doing it to him. When the door opened, he saw that it had no feet, and was floating in the air. And despite the fact that there was no breeze inside the train, especially at a stand–still on a windless night, the thing's cloak billowed as if there was.

"_NO, NOT HARRY!_" Harry heard, but it wasn't through his ears. It was **inside his head**. "_PLEASE, NOT HARRY, PLEASE!_"

"Stop," Harry muttered weakly, his energy slowly fading. "Please make it stop."

"_NO, NO, NO, NO PLEASE NO!_"

"Make it – stop," Harry said weakly, and suddenly a bright, white light came, but Harry fell unconscious.

•••

"Harry? Harry, wake up."

Harry felt a hand gently tap his cheeks, trying to wake him up. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. His bleary vision cleared in moments, revealing a ragged man in equally ragged robes kneeling over him, examining him.

"Nice of you to wake up, professor," Harry cracked with a small smirk. "I thought I'd assume room temperature for a moment there."

Lupin couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"You are definitely your father's son," Lupin commented. He stood up and offered Harry a hand, which he took. Lupin then pulled Harry to his feet.

"Yea, I've gotten that a lot, recently."

Lupin sat back down in his seat, and pulled something from a pocket in his cheap suit beneath his cloak.

"Chocolate?" he asked Harry with a kindly smile. "It'll help."

"I bet it will," Harry replied and took the offered piece. "What was that thing?"

"A dementor. A being that drains all positive thoughts out of its surroundings. It's usually a guard in Azkaban, but since the escape of Sirius Black, they've been put at Hogwarts to guard the school."

"Why Hogwarts? What does this Black want there?"

"You."

Harry put the whole piece of chocolate in his mouth and chewed it. When he finished, he swallowed to ask Lupin another question.

"And why does he want me?" Harry asked calmly.

Lupin seemed a little taken aback by his calm, but answered nonetheless.

"He's your godfather."

Harry's eyes widened for a second.

"Really?"

"Yes. I suppose you could say that I am, too."

"How so?"

"Sirius and I were your father's best friends when we went to Hogwarts."

"So you're Remus, then?"

Now Lupin was the one to be shocked.

"How do you know?"

"Old photos, and a journal of my mother's."

Remus sat back and took a good, long look at his late friend's son. He would never have guessed that Harry would turn out to be so… mature, at such a young age.

"So why was Sirius imprisoned?"

"He was blamed for leading to the murder of your parents."

Harry's eyes instantly and visibly darkened. As if his humanity had suddenly been shut down.

"How?"

"People say he was the one who revealed your parents' location to Voldemort. They were in hiding with the Fidelius charm. Only Sirius could have informed anyone of where your parents were."

Remus seemed regretful, sad, and most of all, as if he carried great guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," he said sombrely. "I never would have thought he would do –no– **could** do something like that."

Harry's eyes brightened again, this time with understanding. He was quiet for a little while. Then Remus got up and walked over to the door to the compartment.

"I will go and have a talk with the conductor. We should arrive at the school soon. You should probably get changed."

Then he left. Harry leant back in his seat, and now smiled a little, wicked smile.

"You cheeky fucker… you didn't do it, did you?" he muttered to himself. "The advanced charms book I bought in Diagon Alley said that the Fidelius charm allows only one 'secret keeper' to be able to pass on the confided information. And I'm ninety–nine percent sure you weren't it. It would make too much sense to use one of the best friends who would never reveal anything, even under torture for someone dedicated enough. You were clearly a decoy, then. So, who was the real secret keeper? Someone meek, most likely. It might even have been your idea. Pick someone no one would trust a secret with. But then, that poses entirely different problems; how to ensure their loyalty? What to do in case anyone found out? If you kill the secret keeper, the title, right and power to divulge the information is passed onto everyone the secret was revealed to. But who would reveal it to Voldemort? Only someone without a spine. With no true loyalties. A rat."

Harry mulled over his latest theory whilst he changed. The uniform fit like a glove, but he felt somewhat restricted in it. He'd had to put his knife in his pack, but he could handle himself in any situation just fine without it. It was just a little safety measure and scare–tactic to avoid confrontation. The train soon reached the destination. Harry grabbed his pack and headed out into the hallway of the train. Students were welling out in waves, pushing Harry along. Harry followed the stream, uncomfortable with the way so many students were crowded so tightly around him, but he got over it. It wasn't like any of them were carrying blades and were going to stab him.

Right?

Harry was soon greeted by a large, booming voice.

"First years! First years over 'ere!"

Dumbledore had told him to go with the first–year students, so that he would be sorted. Harry went over there and stood behind a large flock of eleven–year–olds. Some of the older students leaving the train laughed at him, and some just stared at him like he was an idiot.

_If only they knew._

"Ye must be 'Arry, then! Last time I held ye, yer wer jus a babe!" the half–giant identified by Dumbledore as Rubeus Hagrid called over the sea of much smaller students.

"I am," he called back.

"'Ell, let's get in the boats!"

Harry sat in the back of a self–propelled boat, along with three younger boys. They all looked at him weird, but he paid them no mind.

_This reminds me of my training in Thailand._

There was nothing but silence as they approached the castle, sitting imposingly on the large, rocky peninsula.

_What a sight._

Soon, the boat sailed into the small docking area at the foot of one long staircase. Many of the students were tired after the first set. The entire thing didn't so much as get Harry winded, much less make his heart beat the slightest bit faster. They reached the entrance hall, and were greeted by an elderly woman, but Harry wasn't fooled. Despite her feeble–looking body, Harry saw the strength hidden within. This woman could prove to be a formidable opponent, indeed. She told them a few words of what was going to happen. Her eyes rested on Harry a few times, but never lingered for long. Soon, the great double doors, probably weighing over a tonne each, swung open unassisted. Harry and the other unsorted students followed her inside. People were whispering to each other when they saw Harry. Some chuckled, others looked confused. Harry paid them no mind, though his sharp hearing did pick up a few insults. The unsorted made their way towards a stool with an old, weathered hat sitting upon it. The professor known as McGonagall walked up to it, and turned around to face the entire dining hall. She then rolled out a piece of parchment and began reading names, sorted alphabetically by surnames.

"Potter, Harry," she spoke loudly as it came to his name.

The hall became loud with whispers and gasps. A single glance from McGonagall was all it took for the entire student population to fall quiet once more. Harry walked up and sat on the stool. She then placed the hat on Harry's head.

_Let's get this over with, then._

_**I see. Impatient, are we?**_

_No, bored more like._

_**Is that so? Well, where to begin? Cleverness, intelligence and wisdom beyond any other student, a great Ravenclaw you would make. Patient, hard–working, and loyal to those who earn your trust, even to the point of self–sacrifice, those are worthy Hufflepuff traits. Or perhaps Slytherin, the house of the cunning, ambitious and resourceful, you would fit right in. But what I see the most in you is unwavering conviction, strength, nerve, courage and fearlessness. Perhaps you should be in…**_

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted to the hall, and the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers and glee.

"We got Potter!" Harry heard someone shout at the top of their lungs.

Harry got up and walked down to the table. He was pleased to find Ginny scooting over to make space for him, even as she didn't look at him or say anything. Harry sat down without a word. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, though many of the other Gryffindors tried to make conversation with him. He stared down most of them without uttering a syllable. They were all led to their common rooms after that. Harry was loath to discover that he was sharing dormitory, though he was delighted to see Dumbledore's promise fulfilled, as he saw his school supplies resting on his bed, including his father's old trunk which had the clothes he would wear throughout the school year.

"So, Mr Harry Potter," Harry heard a dawdle from behind him, and he instantly recognised it as Ron Weasley. "The famous Boy Who Lived. Sharing a room with poor, little me and my friends. Must be pretty satisfied, a hero among peasants."

"Not particularly," Harry said without looking back. "You still have a bad attitude."

Harry sensed the flare he'd grown so accustomed to: the intention of harm another living being. Without even looking, Harry dodged the sloppy punch thrown by the pathetically inexperienced fighter. He whipped around faster than any of the boys could have reacted, grabbed Ron's outstretched hand, and within the blink of an eye, Ron was slammed onto the floor. Harry then swung Ron's arm to turn the Weasley on his stomach, and put his arm in a joint lock. Ron screamed in pain at the odd angle Harry was forcing his arm into. Sitting with a knee on Ron's back he looked coldly at all the others in the dorm. Everyone was shocked by the display of superior might and skill, and the emotionally void look on Harry's face.

"Where I'm from, a bad attitude gets you killed."

He quickly released Ron and got back to making sure his things were exactly as he wanted them.

"And I'm no hero."

Harry looked over his shoulder, and the boys all clearly saw the look of intent to hurt someone in his eyes. Ron got up and ran to his bed, on the opposite end of the room from Harry's. He sat on it and caressed his arm, whilst looking fearfully at Harry. Harry then went to bed after making sure all his things were in the place he wanted them.

First Day of School

Monday morning at 3:42, Harry was out running around the Black Lake. He'd done three laps so far, and he would take the fourth in a dead–sprint before he started doing strength and balance exercises. A good morning routine was important, and to Harry, it consisted of fifteen kilometres fast jog, followed by five kilometres sprint. Then came one hour of strength, flexibility and balance exercises. During that, he would punch a tree two hundred times, followed by two hundred kicks. One hundred with each hand and leg. One hundred open–palm strikes, one hundred closed–fist strikes. One hundred foot–kicks, one hundred shin–kicks. Then came the last, slow jog of five kilometres to cool down. He would be done by 7:00. The magic used to permanently enhance his physique made it so that he could easily keep at a task for hours without tire, and he could run a marathon at a sprint, but a workout to keep up his current physical shape would require at least four hours, at least three times every week, even if he did it all seven days of the week. In the end, Harry had concluded, it took a lot of time and effort to maintain, but it was worth it.

Harry's first lesson of the day consisted of Care of Magical Creatures. He'd quickly deduced that the book he was required to have was a living creature, and he had to appease it to open it. He'd tried feeding it bread at breakfast, but it would still try to snap at him. So, he'd caressed it along the spine, to try and calm it down. It instantly went docile and let him read it. He'd briefly wondered what psychotic teacher would make their students buy a book that could take off fingers, but brushed it off. Harry had spotted Ron and Hermione at the breakfast table, and without them noticing, followed them to their first class. Turned out, Hagrid was the teacher of the subject. Interesting.

When Harry arrived, he thought about what might happen. So he took a few minutes to put a little something together. Harry then sat down on the ground and leant up against a tree, hoping to rest his body a little. He pushed himself harder and harder every workout, and had come to the pleasant realization that his endurance was extreme. As he rested, the other students came down as well.

"Well, well," a smug, slick voice rang out. "If it isn't the famous Harry Potter."

Harry opened his eyes and saw a teen with platinum blond hair and wearing Slytherin colours standing a little distance away, surrounded by a posy. Two of them looked somewhat strong, but the simple looks on their faces told him that the size of their shoe might equal their Intelligence Quota.

"Who's speaking?" Harry asked and closed his eyes again.

"Draco Malfoy," the boy sounded proud at being a Malfoy.

"Okay."

"Okay?" he asked indignantly.

"What did you expect?" Harry asked with a smirk and opened his eyes. "An applause?"

"Some respect might have gone a long way."

"Too bad I don't care."

Malfoy was visibly angry. Harry could tell that the boy wanted to curse him.

_Let him try._

"Well, I'll just make you care!"

"Doubtful."

"I can!"

"No, you can't."

"Watch me!"

"I don't intend to."

Malfoy stormed over to Harry, pulled out his wand and pointed it at the black–haired teen.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we?" Malfoy asked with a smirk.

"I never was," Harry said confidently, "but you walked right into my trap."

Malfoy's eyes widened, and Harry pulled out a small knife from his pocket. Using it, he cut a small rope. All of a sudden, Malfoy was hanging upside–down by his ankle. His face was red with anger, embarrassment and blood.

"How dare you!"

"Easy. I just do," Harry said and smiled at Malfoy, whose head hung a little more than an arm's length away from Harry's.

"My father will hear about this!"

Harry's smile instantly fell.

"So you can't fight your battles yourself?" he asked. "That's just pathetic."

"YOU'RE PATHETIC!"

"Says the daddy's boy hanging from a tree by his ankle."

That shut Malfoy up.

"Oi! What's goin' on 'ere!?" Harry heard Hagrid's voice call out.

"Draco's being a little bitch, that's what," Harry said humourlessly, glaring into Malfoy's eyes.

"YOU'RE DONE, POTTER!" Malfoy shouted.

"Yes, I am."

Harry swung the small knife and cut the rope that held Malfoy up. The teen fell to the ground, rushing to get his wand. Only to find out that it wasn't where he dropped it.

"Looking for this?" Harry asked and held up the wand. He then threw it at Malfoy's face. "Take it."

Malfoy rushed to pick it up, and as soon as he held it, he shouted and sent a light charging Harry's way. He'd aimed at Harry's head, which made it much easier for Harry to dodge. He just leant to the left, and the spell discharged into the tree.

"No spells outside class!" Hagrid roared at the top of his lungs.

Malfoy was heaving with rage, the humiliation of being caught off–guard so effortlessly fuelling his fury.

"I'll have you killed, Potter!"

"If you try, I will kill you myself. I don't need others to do it for me," Harry replied with a voice so low, no one other than Malfoy could hear it.

"Malfoy!" Hagrid shouted. "Don' you run around thret'nin' other students!"

Malfoy spat in the ground in front of Harry, and stormed off, his two goons padding off behind him. Harry was honestly amused by the meatheads.

Attending School

A week passed, and Harry quickly adapted to this new environment. Luckily, his trunk and bags hadn't been inspected. He might have had some serious explaining to do if someone had found the armaments he had packed.

A military M9 bayonet, silver plated to allow for the takedown of werewolves more easily. A SIG–Sauer P227, a compact, yet powerful, semi–automatic pistol using a .45 Automatic Colt Pistol cartridge for increased stopping power. He had brought subsonic, silver jacketed hollow–point rounds, accompanied by a suppressor. His pride and joy, the Nemesis Arms Vanquish, an easily disassembled, long–range sniper rifle using a subsonic, silver jacketed .308 Winchester round paired with a suppressor as well, and effective to over 1500 metres in Harry's extremely capable hands. A powerful shortbow with silver–tipped arrows, and finally, he had brought a few grenades. Three smokes, three frags and three bangers. And six specialty grenades he had devised himself: a frag grenade, with the shrapnel and casing made of a silver alloy, and powdered silver inside. The perfect grenade against werewolves. Harry wasn't a werewolf hunter, but he liked to be prepared. Which was why he'd also brought a few crosses, wooden stakes and arrows purely of wood.

He hadn't needed any of them yet, and for some reason, that unsettled him. When he wasn't in his mistress' chantry below London, he was always on alert. Muggers, killers and assassins were everywhere, and vampires practically ran the London Underground. People would probably call him paranoid. But the people you had to look out for were the ones who seemed the most normal. They were the real psychos. Harry made no pretences of not being dangerous. His dorm mates had discovered that the hard way when he had completely subdued Ron in less than two seconds his first night there. Word of the incident had spread quickly, and no one wanted to be anywhere near him, in case he might do the same to them. That suited Harry just fine. But it didn't suit a certain, old wizard with long hair and beard. A week into the first semester, and Harry had already been summoned to the headmaster's office. Harry was escorted by Professor McGonagall after Friday afternoon's Transfiguration lesson. She had tried talking to Harry all the way to Dumbledore's office, but he would only give short, vague answers to her questions. Soon, he was sitting in a chair in front of Dumbledore, with McGonagall standing behind the headmaster.

"So, Harry," Dumbledore began. "I hear you've caused trouble, in the first week no less."

"I don't start fights," Harry replied quietly, "but I have been taught how to end them."

Dumbledore put his elbows on his desk and folded his hands.

"What do you mean?"

"The streets of London aren't safe. There are muggers and killers everywhere. So, my guardian had me take self–defence classes, so that I wouldn't get stabbed in some alley at night."

Though McGonagall usually made an effort to keep her face stern, it did soften a little at Harry's face and explanation. Dumbledore looked equally concerned.

"And that fight with young Mr Weasley?"

"Not a fight. He struck at me. It was just my reflexes from training that took over and made me subdue him before he could hurt me."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

"So Mr Weasley was the aggressor?"

"Yes."

"I see," Dumbledore stated. "In that case, I will have Professor McGonagall scold him for his ill temper. You are free to go. Enjoy your weekend." Dumbledore winked at the boy who smiled apologetically in return.

•••

Harry walked into the great hall, Saturday morning, after his morning routine, showering and dressing in his usual black jeans and t–shirt. As he walked over to the Gryffindor table, he noticed a few girls at the Ravenclaw table looking at his exposed arms, which were rather tight from strong, lean muscle–mass. More than that, on his left upper arm was a tattoo. A straight sword without a guard, with a wing on each side and a banner across it all, with the phrase 'WHO DARES WINS' written on it. A reminder of one of Harry's instructors, a man who had indoctrinated him with endurance, perseverance, restraint, and honour.. Harry ignored them and sat down at his own, rather unpopulated table. He put some eggs, bacon and a loaf of bread on his plate, poured himself some orange–juice, and started eating. He was soon joined by two redheads, one sitting on each side of him.

"Good mornin', Harry," the one on his left said.

"How're you doin' today?" the other asked.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said before taking a swig of his juice. "You?"

"Oh, we're just fine."

"See, the thing is, we'd like to talk to you about our wittle brother, Ron."

"If you're here to threaten me, save it," Harry said casually, putting some bacon in his mouth. "He tried that too. Didn't end well for him."

"Oh, we don't wanna threaten you."

"On the contrary, we want to thank you."

"Icky little Ronniekins was becoming quite a pain because of his last two years here at Hogwarts."

"I could tell. He has a bad attitude."

"Tell us about it. Summer last year, the prat wouldn't shut up about saving the philosopher's stone from You–Know–Who. This summer, it was killing Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets under the school."

"Meaning your brother's a hero. Let him brag. Anything that keeps attention away from me is appreciated."

The twins exchanged glances.

"You don't like getting attention?" the left one asked.

"No. I prefer not being noticed," Harry answered.

"You're a strange hero, Harry," the right one stated.

"I'm no hero," Harry said as he stood back up. "I'm just an orphan who gets praised for being alive."

That final statement left both the Weasleys speechless.

"Oh, what're your names?" Harry asked before he got too far away from them.

"I'm Fred," one of them began, "and I'm George," the other finished.

Harry nodded and left the great hall. He wanted to get familiar with the school.

•••

Harry had been practically everywhere in the castle by evening. His memorisation and navigation skills allowed him to keep track of exactly where he was in the castle. He'd come across students here and there, but there weren't many when you compared it to the entire school population. He'd found that some of the girls his age kept staring at him. Boys did too, but with vastly different emotions painted on their faces. It occurred to Harry that he was attracting attention by the virtue of his looks. He didn't particularly care about his appearance, so long as he could blend in with a crowd, but he supposed that a thirteen–year–old with muscles like a military man would attract some measure of attention. After all, Harry rationalised, it was rare for children his age to train their bodies for anything other than playing football or some other sport. As he was heading down to eat dinner, he came across a bathroom on the second floor, doors wide open. Inside, he saw Ginny Weasley standing in front of a collage of sinks. Harry looked at her for a few seconds, then realised that she wasn't washing her hands. She was reliving memories. He walked over to her and stood beside her. Her eyes were blankly staring at the sink in front of her, and Harry studied it closely. There didn't seem to be anything odd about it, except perhaps for the shapes of snakes raised in the tap–iron. Ginny didn't notice him at all. Harry then did something he usually wouldn't do on anyone he wasn't trying to classify as a potential threat: he focused his mind, cleared it of everything, and let it slip into Ginny's.

_Harry was standing in a large, dark and humid hall. Statues of snakes surrounded a path of tiles leading to a large statue of a face. An old man. Next to the statue stood a figure wearing Hogwarts robes, though they were subtly different from the ones his schoolmates wore. Perhaps from decades ago? Harry made his way over towards the figure. He noticed Ginny lying on the ground next to him, not moving. Harry then heard rapid footsteps from behind him and turned to see who it was. Ron and a slightly pudgy boy Harry recognised as Neville Longbottom from his dorm came running._

"_It's over, Riddle!" Ron shouted at the boy standing over Ginny. He couldn't be older than seventeen._

"_Yes, Weasley. It is over."_

'_Riddle' then turned to the statue of the old man's face, stretched out his hand, and said something with a hissing noise. Harry couldn't make out what on Earth it meant. In his years of study, he'd never encountered such a language. The mouth of the statue opened, and Harry saw two gleaming, yellow eyes in the darkness within. The duo of Gryffindors turned their heads away, an action Harry thought very unwise when faced with an opponent. Then it dawned on him._

"_**That's the basilisk?**__" he muttered to himself. "__**Supposedly, it can kill any creature that looks directly into its eyes. So that's why they turned away, huh?**__"_

_A humongous snake, at least twenty metres long, came out of the mouth and hissed menacingly. Harry didn't feel the slightest amount of fear at the size of the snake, though he realised that he was witnessing a memory. He looked over at Ginny._

"_**But if she's unconscious, then how can I witness this?**__" Harry muttered to himself._

_He looked at Riddle once more, and took a good look at him. He looked… translucent, somehow. Like he didn't have a physical form. Harry looked around and saw a small, black diary next to Ginny. On the cover was written 'Tom Riddle' in faded, gold letters._

"_**Tom Riddle?**__" Harry murmured to himself. "__**A spectre? Did he leave an imprint of his essence in the diary, perhaps?**__"_

_A shrill came from behind the two second–year Gryffindors, and Harry saw a scarlet bird come gliding towards them. It dropped the sorting hat on the ground next to Ron and Neville, and then headed straight for the basilisk._

"_**What a stupid bir–**__" Harry was about to say, but it stopped near the basilisk's head and started clawing out the giant serpent's eyes. "__**What a clever bird.**__"_

_Ron and Neville once again faced Riddle and the basilisk, now writhing in pain and hissing loudly._

"_My basilisk may not be able to see you, Weasley. But it can still hear you!" Riddle shouted, and Neville took a single step back, his shoe clacking against the stone ground and echoing in the chamber. The snake's head instantly whipped to face Neville's direction._

"_**Oh shit,**__" Harry breathed out._

_Ron's and Neville's faces looked exactly like Harry's statement implied, and they took off running in opposite directions, to the sides of the chamber._

"_**Huh, they're actually capable of strategy. Who knew.**__"_

_The serpent seemed a little confused at first, but then took off in Ron's direction. Neville, meanwhile, sat down behind a column, catching his breath._

"_BLOODY HELL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Ron shouted at the top of his lungs._

"_IT CAN STILL HEAR US! IF YOU KEEP MAKING NOISE, I'LL GET THE SWORD!"_

"_WHAT SWORD!?"_

"_THE ONE THAT JUST APPEARED IN THE HAT!"_

_Harry looked over at the sorting hat, and sure enough, a ruby–studded silver grip was sticking out of it._

"_**Neville may just be smarter than I first gave him credit for. Good for him.**__"_

_Harry wasn't worried, since he'd seen both Ron and Neville in the present, alive and well. But he was interested in seeing how they defeated such a mildly intimidating foe at the age of twelve with no prior combat training. Harry didn't doubt he could have killed it himself, but he was no ordinary boy. Ron kept running around, his shoes clacking loudly against the stone floor and echoing strongly in the large, subterranean chamber. Neville started quietly sneaking over to the sorting hat, and when he reached it, he grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled it out. Harry was amazed by the silver blade, the craftmanship that forged it. An almost perfect sword. Neville then started running over to the giant snake. It heard his footsteps, and turned to him instead. He ran up to it and started hacking away at its body. Despite Harry's inner voice telling him it was a futile effort at such a location, he was stunned when he saw the sword cut into the snake cleanly, as if the scales were made of butter. The basilisk swung its tail at Neville, but couldn't reach him, much less find his exact location. The snake was clearly in pain, and soon it slammed its head towards the spot Neville should have been, except that the scarlet bird had miraculously grabbed him and flown away from the spot._

"_**What a ludicrously strong bird,**__" Harry commented to himself._

_The battle between the serpent and the school boys raged on for almost half an hour, between cutting, slamming and running. In the end, Neville managed to fell the huge snake, but not before getting bitten. Harry saw the boy's arm darken as the venom spread from it._

"_**How the hell did he survive that?**__"_

_The bird flew down and landed beside him, and started… crying? Harry saw the tears drip onto the wound in Neville's arm, and the poison in him started fading, and the wound healed over._

"_**What a ridiculous bird,**__" Harry couldn't keep from saying to himself. "__**I want one.**__"_

_After that, however, Harry noticed the room getting darker and darker. Sounds became muffled and unclear, as if underwater. He decided it was about time to get out of Ginny's head, seeing as that was the point where her memory faded._

Harry refocused his senses as he came back to reality. Ginny beside him seemed to slowly come out of her memory as well.

"You alright?" Harry asked her quietly.

Ginny jumped in shock nonetheless.

"Blimey!" she shouted and put a hand to her chest, right on top of her heart. "What are you doing here!?"

"I was walking by and saw you standing here, looking at that faucet," Harry explained, purposefully neglecting to mention the fact that he had witnessed her memory. "Were you remembering something?"

Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to comfort herself.

"Yea," she said quietly, as if ashamed. "What happened last year."

"I see. Did it help?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "None of my friends talk to me anymore. I keep telling them I didn't have a choice, but they don't believe me."

"Why didn't you?" Harry inquired. Why wouldn't she have a choice?

"Riddle, he– the guy who was behind it all… he did something to my head…"

"He possessed you?" Harry asked curiously.

"YES!" he exclaimed. "You understand!?"

"Of course I do," Harry stated as if it were a matter of fact. "Possession of another's body isn't that rare of an ability. I know several people who can do it."

Ginny looked shocked.

"You do?"

"Sure."

"You're kidding?"

"Not at all."

"You're serious?"

"I am."

"Bollocks."

Harry studied Ginny for a little. She seemed rattled, but she would likely calm down momentarily.

"Want to go to dinner?" he asked her.

"I'd like that," Ginny returned with a small smile.

They walked through the few corridors and down the stairs to the great hall. They went over to the Gryffindor table and sat down.

"So," Ginny began, "let's get to know each other."

"What do you want to know?" Harry asked as he poured both of them pumpkin juice.

"Where were you raised?"

"London."

"Really? I always wanted to try and go to London without going to Diagon Alley!"'

"It's not that interesting," Harry told her, "and it can get really dangerous after nightfall."

"How dangerous?"

"People get mugged, beaten or murdered every night. That dangerous."

Ginny slapped a hand across her mouth.

"Is that true!?"

"You don't know much about large cities, do you?" Harry inquired her as he took a slice of bacon and put it in his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"People get murdered in large cities every day and night. London isn't as dangerous as, say, Berlin, but it's dangerous nonetheless."

"Where's Berlin?" Ginny asked him. Harry didn't believe his ears.

"You don't know where Berlin is?"

"No." Ginny seemed a little offended at the condescending question.

"Ginny, do wizard children go to school before Hogwarts?" he asked her, hoping she would say 'of course'.

"No, why?"

Harry let go of his fork and started rubbing his forehead and his closed eyes.

"Berlin is the capital of Germany," Harry said, never letting go of his face. "Every Muggle child learns that around eight years old."

"Muggle children go to school before eleven?" she asked with an expression that just screamed 'I'm an idiot'.

"They begin school at six," Harry said, and was now thoroughly wondering if he should take up politics and change how wizarding children were educated. "Usually, they don't stop their education until nineteen or twenty. In total, they go to school for about fifteen years."

"Merlin's beard," Ginny whispered. "How can they take school for so long?"

"They learn to deal with it."

"Deal with it?"

"Yes, deal with it."

Ginny was confused at the prospect.

"How?"

"They just do," Harry replied and shrugged. "Everyone develops their own way of dealing with it, and that is an important skill."

"An important skill?"

"Yes. If I have a problem, I deal with it. I could ignore it, I could confront it. If my problem was a person, I could scare them off. I could trick them into leaving me alone, or I could get someone else to deal with them for me. Whichever way I do it, the result will remain largely the same, and only my personal preference would be the determining factor as to which approach I choose."

Ginny nodded as if listening intently, but Harry knew she didn't understand what he said. She had that glazed look in her eyes of someone who lost focus. Oh well.

"Well, it was nice talking with you," Harry stated as he got up from the table, "but I need to do my homework. I'll see you another time."

Ginny nodded, and just as Harry was about to leave, he heard someone with a familiarly irritating voice shouting at him.

"Oi! Get away from my sister, freak!"

Harry couldn't help the small smile that crawled onto his lips.

"Good evening, Ron," Harry said politely as he turned around.

He grabbed the fist flying towards him with a hand that may as well have been a steel vice. He pulled Ron forward, setting him off–balance, and then twisted the boy so that Ron was on his knees in front of him, crying out from the pain in his knees and wrist.

"Always with the violent greeting, I see," Harry commented.

Ginny and Hermione, who were both right next to Harry and Ron respectively, gasped at the sight.

"What are you doing!? Let go of him!" Hermione shouted, and started slapping Harry's arm. It didn't budge.

"He attacked me," Harry said casually. "I'm merely preventing any harm to come to myself."

"Ron, you prat!" Ginny yelled. "You don't just run around punching people!"

"You don't understand, Gin!" Ron shouted back. "He's dangerous!"

"Well, more dangerous than you, definitely," Harry commented with a smirk. "This is the second attack you've made against me, and both failed dramatically."

Hermione kept slapping at Harry's arm, and while it didn't hurt him in the slightest, it was just as pesky as a fly that just wouldn't leave you alone.

"Would you stop that?" Harry asked her. "It's only annoying me further."

"Then let go!"

"What is going on!?" Harry heard professor McGonagall shout, and saw her enter the great hall.

"Ron Weasley attacked me again, professor."

McGonagall glared down at Ron, who looked at her fearfully.

"Is that true, Mr Weasley?"

"No! He started it!"

Harry snorted and squeezed a little tighter on the boy's wrist.

"Yeah, I did! Sorry!"

Harry's smirk widened a little, and he let go of the terrified boy. He looked at Harry like Harry was a giant spider. And due to his extraordinary talents, Harry could tell that was one of Ron's greatest fears.

"I have to say, Mr Weasley, that I am thoroughly disappointed in you," McGonagall started. "You attack a classmate twice in one week, with no provocation at all!"

"He was sitting next to Ginny, professor!" Ron tried, but McGonagall shot him down.

"And doing what? Stabbing her with a fork? Drowning her in pumpkin juice? I doubt it."

"But he's dangerous! He shouldn't be here!"

"He's not wrong, by the way," Harry chimed in. "I am dangerous." He then shot Ron a dirty look. "But I only act in defence."

"Which I admire very much from a Gryffindor," McGonagall said and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will write a letter to your family about your behaviour, Mr Weasley."

Ron went pale.

"Then what about his family?"

"You're really dense, aren't you?" Harry chuckled. "I'm an orphan. I have no family."

Ron's face seemed to fall a bit, not having thought about that little fact. That Harry didn't have a family to write to. With a final look at Ron, Harry walked around McGonagall and exited the great hall. He'd probably go for a midnight run.

Stirring Trouble

The next month went relatively quietly. Ron despised Harry, as did Draco Malfoy. And there weren't many people who liked Harry in general. That suited Harry just fine, though. He had his classes, his workouts and his homework. Though, he'd quickly discarded the quills and ink the school used. He'd soon switched over to black biros he'd brought from home. And the schoolwork was easily taken care of. He'd memorised all his books by heart at the end of the first month, and a few he found in the library. His spellwork wasn't too bad either. By mid–October, Harry had already caught up to the rest of his year in terms of practical spells he'd needed to learn. All his teachers were astounded by the rate at which he learnt. He could recite whole pages from his book without looking, and once he'd gotten used to tapping into his wizarding magic, learned how it felt and moved within himself and his wand, learning spells had become easy. Harry always told the teachers 'I'm a natural learner', but that wasn't the whole truth.

By Hallowe'en, Harry had advanced to fourth–year spellwork, and his teachers were even more astonished. Which was exactly why he was, once again, sitting in the headmaster's office. The senior wizard was sitting across from Harry, studying the young boy thoroughly.

"It seems you are naturally gifted with spellwork," Dumbledore said. "I would like to know how."

"I'm a quick learner," Harry brushed it off.

"No one learns that quickly. Not even Tom Riddle."

_Tom Riddle? That boy from Ginny's memory?_

"Who?"

"More commonly known these days as 'Lord Voldemort'."

Harry sat up a little straighter.

"My parents' killer."

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed whilst nodding slowly. "He was an extremely talented wizard, and not even he learned three years' worth of spells and theory in one month."

"Guess my talent is greater than his, then," Harry said dryly.

"And that concerns me."

"Because you think I will take the same route as him."

"That's not what I meant," Dumbledore said coolly. He wasn't stupid. He had become well aware that Harry was no ordinary boy. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

"But it's what you insinuated," Harry countered. "And I don't blame you. I do have skills and talents that make me a dangerous foe."

"Another of my concerns."

Harry started studying Dumbledore as intensely as the old man studied the young boy. They were both deathly quiet for almost five minutes, just reading each other. Until Harry spoke.

"You are far cleverer than I took you for at face value, sir."

"I could say the same about you, dear boy."

"All cards on the table?"

"All of them."

"I have been raised to become the perfect soldier and assassin."

"When I was young, around 1899, a dark wizard by the name of Gellert Grindelwald was my closest friend. I later imprisoned him in Nurmengard, a prison he built for his own enemies."

"My guardian is a centuries–old vampire."

"I may have been the cause of my sister's death."

"May?"

"My brother, Aberforth, Grindelwald and myself were duelling. We never learned who threw the spell that killed her."

"I've been the subject of magical experiments. I have some of the traits of werewolves and vampires, and my body has been enhanced to make me the most powerful human on Earth."

"Interesting," Dumbledore said, but Harry could clearly hear the sadness in his voice.

"Indeed. And my guardian's haven, or home, has been magically altered. Time moves much faster in there. In reality, I'm closer to two–hundred–and–thirty than thirteen. At least mentally."

"Then I can skip the niceties. You are, according to yourself, a hundred years older than myself."

"How old are you?"

"One–hundred–and–twelve."

"You look strong for such an old human."

"Wizards can live much longer. We are subtly different from muggles in body."

"I see."

"I don't believe Voldemort is gone."

"What do we do?"

Dumbledore leant back in his chair. Harry was far different than he could have ever imagined. James' and Lily's son was so tragically broken. Even without reading further into the boy, Dumbledore could clearly see the look of a traumatised man in Harry's eyes. He'd seen it in many men after the Wizarding War.

"I will teach you about Voldemort. Who he was. How he came to be who he is. Everything."

"When do we begin?"

Dumbledore was also saddened by the fact that Harry responded exactly like a soldier would. Never asking 'why', only 'when'.

"Christmas holiday. When there are fewer students at the school. No one will question you going missing for the entire day."

"Understood."

That little word cut into Dumbledore's already torn heart, but he kept the mask. Harry would see Dumbledore as his commanding officer. And a commanding officer should never show sadness.

"And please do keep up your fine work. You are advancing brilliantly. I am proud. As would your parents be."

Dumbledore caught the tiniest of smiles gracing Harry's lips at the mention of his parents. He then stood up, bowed, and left. When he was out of the door, tears pushed deep finally broke and cascaded down the old man's wrinkled cheeks.

"Poor boy," he whispered with a broken voice. "You shouldn't have to be like this."

•••

Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower after eating a light Hallowe'en dinner. When he came to the portrait of the Fat Lady, however… the painting was slashed. Without thinking, Harry whipped out his bayonet, which he'd taken to keeping on him, just in case. He pried the portrait off the wall effortlessly, and stormed inside. Keeping his knife ready, he quickly went through the common room. Nothing. He stormed up the stairs to the boys' dorm. Nothing, though there were clear signs of someone looking for something. Trunks were overturned, mattresses and pillows slashed. He ran downstairs and up to the girls' dorm, but the stairs beneath him changed, turning to a slide instead. Using his agility and quick wit, he put the knife in his mouth, careful not to cut his tongue on the serrated back of the blade, and jumped. He reached the top of the stairs easily, and barged in. Nothing, and no sign of intrusion. The burglar probably either knew how the stairs worked, and didn't try, or wasn't committed enough to make it to the top. Or maybe he knew what he looked for wasn't in there.

He quickly slid down the slide, stuffing his blade away as he did. When he reached the bottom, the common room was filled with students, and professor McGonagall.

"Potter!" McGonagall yelled in surprise. "Did you find anything!?"

"No," he said begrudgingly. "Either the burglar knew the stairs would turn to a slide, or he figured out the hard way and didn't try again. I think it was a former Gryffindor. The boys' third–year–dorm has been ransacked. He was looking for something. Whoever it was certainly didn't find what he was looking for."

"How can you tell!?" a student asked.

"Because he threw stuff around. Normally, if you didn't find what you were looking for, you just drop it and moved on. This man threw pillows and clothes all over the boys' dorm. He got upset."

"Wow!" someone exclaimed. "You're like a detective!"

"It doesn't take a genius to figure that out," Harry said flatly. "Black's gone now, though."

There were gasps all over the room.

"SIRIUS BLACK!? HERE!?" someone shouted.

"How certain are you, Potter!?" McGonagall asked sternly.

"Whoever did it hasn't showered in weeks, at least," Harry stated as he wrinkled his nose. "That would match up with the fact that Sirius Black is a prison escapee, and hasn't taken the time to wash up, since he's on the run. And I can't imagine him getting a nice, hot shower in Azkaban."

"Your logic is sound, Mr Potter," McGonagall said proudly. "I am happy to have you in Gryffindor."

Harry nodded and started up towards his dorm.

"Where are you going?" McGonagall asked.

"To get my sleeping bag and a pillow. I can't imagine you teachers letting us students sleep in here, knowing that a wanted criminal infiltrated the castle without anyone knowing. The most likely scenario in my mind is that you make us sleep in the great hall."

"One day, you must tell me how you became so clever," McGonagall said with a small smile and a wink, an incredibly rare gesture for her to make.

"One day," Harry agreed and headed upstairs, ignoring the whispers behind him as he did.

•••

Amongst all the sleeping students, Harry was lying on his back, feigning sleep. He had gotten fully dressed in his favourite apparel whilst obscured by his sleeping bag: dark combat pants stuffed into black combat boots. A black military belt with his bayonet in a sheath on his left leg and his pistol in a holster on his right leg, and over his knees were hard–plastic kneepads. He was wearing a skiing undershirt, over which he wore a dark fleece jacket. His outfit was completed by hard–plastic elbow pads and fingerless gloves.

He was waiting for every student to be asleep. And that time, thankfully, had come. Using some of his vampiric abilities, he hid himself from human senses and left his sleeping bag. He snuck soundlessly out of the great hall, and nearly ran into Filch, the despicable janitor of the school. His cat, Madam Norris, looked straight at Harry, but he continued on. He quietly opened the large doors leading outside, and started running towards the Forbidden Forest. Black's most likely hiding place. After all, a human couldn't have gotten far. Harry soon reached the edge of the forest, and sat down. He focused all his senses and tried to locate the scent he's smelled in the Gryffindor Tower.

He found it. It was faint, but it was there. But it wasn't coming from the forest. He turned around, and started running towards the scent. After almost fifteen minutes of running, he came to a large willow tree. It was swaying gently in the cold breeze, and Harry was glad he'd put on two warm layers of clothes. Harry could smell the man's scent from the base of the tree.

_A hidden passage? Lovely._

He started towards the tree's base, but suddenly, he was forced to jump out of the way of a large branch smashing down where he'd been only instants earlier.

_A sentient fucking tree. Unbelievable._

Harry quickly moved out of the tree's reach, contemplating an approach.

_Guess there's only one thing to do._

Calling up the power latent in his magically enhanced, quasi–vampiric blood, he moved like a flash, zooming past any branch and reaching the tree's roots, all in the blink of an eye. He quickly located the hidden entrance, and slid down. The exhaustion was minimal, but there. He took a few seconds to calm down and focus on the long tunnel he was in. Black's scent permeated throughout the tunnel, a clear sign that the man had gone through here less than a day ago. When he calmed down from the usage of his incredible speed, he continued down the corridor. It continued for a long time, and Harry was certain that the end was nowhere near Hogwarts' grounds.

Soon, the tunnel went upwards, and he started climbing, making sure he didn't make any noise as he went. He soon came out in an old, abandoned house, ready to fall apart any minute.

_Black is in here._

Harry crept through the house, and ended up in a room with a lone man sitting on an old bed. He was looking intently at a piece of paper. Harry recognised it as Neville's list of passwords. The boy couldn't remember anything at all. Harry leant against the doorway, studying the man in front of him. The man didn't seem to notice him.

Harry cleared his throat.

Sirius jumped, whirled around and drew a knife.

"WHO'S THERE!?"

"Harry Potter," Harry said calmly. "Nice to meet you."

Sirius' face fell from it's angry expression to one of hope.

"Harry?" he whispered hoarsely. "Harry?"

"Yes, Harry."

Sirius' eyes scanned him over.

"Tell me something only Harry would know."

"Then how would **you** know I told the truth?"

"I'll know."

"Alright. You and Remus were my father's best friends."

"Anyone could know that," Sirius said, and the hope in his eyes dwindled slightly.

"Okay. My parents were killed exactly twelve years ago."

"Everyone knows that."

"Then I don't know what else to say," Harry said casually. "There's nothing else I **could** say that you'd be able to verify."

Sirius slowly raised his knife again. Harry's hand was instantly on his bayonet.

"I wouldn't recommend that. I've far more experience with a knife than you."

"Who are you?"

"I told you already," Harry said and unsnapped the clasp keeping his own knife in place. "If you won't believe me, that's fine. But at least tell me why you raided my dorm."

Sirius was quiet.

"You were looking for something. Whatever it was, you didn't find it. Will you trust me if I find it for you?"

Sirius' eyes showed only a hint of relief.

"I was looking for a person. An Animagus."

"What's an Animagus?" Harry asked.

"A wizard or witch who can transform into an animal at will," Sirius explained, never letting his guard down. "The one I look for takes the shape of a rat."

"Who is it?"

"A man named Peter Pettigrew. He framed his death after he told Voldemort about the Potter's hidden house. He was the secret keeper of the Fidelius charm hiding them."

"I knew it," Harry muttered.

"What is it?" Sirius asked.

"I thought someone else might have been the secret keeper. You were too obvious of a choice."

"How did you know?" Sirius asked, astonished.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out. I'll find him."

Sirius studied him cautiously and nodded.

"He's undercover as a boy's pet rat. The boy's a Weasley, red hair–"

"Freckles, a temper. I know him. He's attacked me a few times so far."

"Why?" Sirius said, his eyes narrowing.

"Cause he's a prat with a fetish for attention. Then the 'famous Harry Potter' came around and took the spotlight."

Sirius couldn't help the amused grunt that escaped him.

"You don't look anything like what I'd expect Harry to look."

Harry's jaw tightened.

"And how would you expect him to look?"

"Like a child. You look like a soldier."

That made Harry chuckle.

"Sorry to disappoint you. I'll tell all about my childhood another time."

Harry turned around and was about to leave.

"You really are Harry… aren't you?"

Harry stopped for a few seconds.

"Figure that out for yourself."

He then left the house, and went through the tunnel once more that night.

Search and Destroy

Harry watched Ron intently as the boy woke up in the great hall. He saw the rat scurrying around, and Ron caught it and held him.

"_Blasted rat,_" Harry heard Ron mutter, even thought there were twelve, chatting students between them.

Harry stared at the rat, trying to come up with a way to catch it. Catch **him**. Pettigrew. Harry felt his anger flare, but he pushed it down. Losing his cool was the last thing he would want, ever.

Harry let the next few days pass quietly, merely observing Ron and his rat. Pettigrew would run off at times, and then come back hours later. And he did it at night, most often. But Harry had also noticed Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, being on the prowl for 'Scabbers', Pettigrew's rat alias. Harry was considering making Crookshanks an ally, but he would have to be subtle. If anyone, especially Hermione, saw him talking to her cat, they would think he was insane, and Hermione would likely throw a fit. Ginny, Harry had been glad to find, enjoyed his company. She'd even divulged what happened in detail to him, even if he knew it from her memories. But he didn't intend to tell her that.

One evening, after eleven, Harry was sitting in the common room with a book. Everyone else had gone to bed. And just as he'd hoped, down from the girls' dorm came Crookshanks.

"Good evening, Mr Crookshanks," Harry said, and focused on the cat. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

The cat looked at him strangely.

**What a stupid human. He doesn't understand my speech.**

"No, but I can understand your thoughts," Harry commented.

**Interesting. How can you do so, human?**

"It's a special talent I've cultivated over the past few years," Harry explained. "But that isn't why I've been wanting to talk to you."

**Then why?**

"The rat you've been hunting. Scabbers. I want him captured alive."

**To what end?**

"My concern. Will you help me?"

The cat was silent for a while.

**What will you give me in return?**

"You're a cunning animal. I will give you strength and speed."

**I am already fast.**

"Clearly not fast enough," Harry commented. "Else you would have caught him by now."

**Alright. I will bring him to you… alive. So grant me the speed to capture him.**

"My pleasure," Harry said and tapped the couch next to him.

The cat walked over and jumped up on the sofa. He sat right next to the boy, expectantly. Harry took out his pocket knife and cut his thumb. He held the bleeding finger down to Crookshanks, and Crookshanks started licking it up. The cat shuddered, but kept taking in the blood.

**What exquisite flavour.**

"Now, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain."

**Of course.**

"Deliver him to me in the courtyard right outside the entrance hall. I will be waiting there tomorrow night, at this time."

**I shall be there.**

Crookshanks ran off, out of the common room, clearly eager to try his new speed and strength. Harry smiled wickedly, and headed to bed.

•••

Around midnight, Harry was sitting outside in the outfit he'd worn when he went to see Sirius. It was a practical set of gear, which could adapt to any situation. He could run, climb and jump freely, he was protected from the worst of the elements except for extreme changes in climate, and he had some measure of protection. He was holding a small cage he'd spent the past few days making. Once Pettigrew was inside, he'd either stay in rat form, or he would get his neck sliced when he tried transforming. Soon, he heard the light, almost silent paws hitting the ground rapidly, and Crookshanks came running with a squealing rat in his mouth. Harry quickly took the rat and threw it roughly in the cage.

"You've done a good job, Crookshanks," Harry commented.

He then sat down and used his bayonet to slice his thumb open again, and let the cat drink it.

"You can have some every weekend. I need time to replenish it."

**Thank you, human. I look forward to the next weekend.**

The half–Kneazle then ran off to God knew where. Harry picked up the cage with the rat trying to escape with a fervour he had only seen in men trying to escape certain death. Harry started walking leisurely towards the Whomping Willow, as he'd learned it was called. He soon reached it and pulled his bayonet from its sheath. He expertly threw it, and it struck right in the one knot Sirius had told him on one of his later visits would stun it for a little. As he closed in, the willow tree did nothing. As he reached the entrance to the secret passage, he retrieved his knife and went down. On his way through the tunnel, he started whistling a merry tune, but his face showed no hint of enjoyment. Rather, it was grim anticipation.

_This is it. Tonight, I get to avenge the first part of my parents' murder._

He glared down at the rat trying to escape the cage, and shook it a little. The rat cut itself on one of the sharp blades he'd put in there, and he felt a little joy in that. Harry reached the part where one crawled into the 'Shrieking Shack', and climbed up. Harry heard Sirius footsteps.

"You have him?" Sirius asked just as he came into view from another room.

"I do," Harry replied and held up the cage, and shook it a little, causing the rat to screech again.

A frown spread on Sirius' face.

"Thirteen years," he muttered, and walked over to Harry. He grabbed the cage and shook it forcefully, making the rat cut itself more. "Thirteen years I sat in Azkaban, paying for your crime!"

Harry let go of the cage and Sirius stormed off.

"I think we should inform Dumbledore and Remus," Harry said. "We could use Pettigrew to clear your name, so please don't kill him."

"He killed James and Lily!" Sirius shouted. "He deserves to die!"

Harry held his hands up defensively.

"I said 'kill'. I don't mind if you rough him up before we get him to Dumbledore."

"You really aren't the Harry that was supposed to be here," Sirius remarked at the boy's words.

"But I'm the one that is," Harry said bluntly. "Get over it, Sirius. I'm a soldier. A killer. Once Voldemort's taken care of, I'm leaving Britain."

Sirius put the cage down and walked over to a worn–out couch. He plumped down, and gestured for Harry to sit in one of the chairs, which he complied with.

"Where will you go?" Sirius asked.

"New Orleans, in the United States. It's the city I feel the most at home in. And I have someone there who'll take good care of me."

Sirius was silent.

"You could come live with me, you know," he remarked after a little contemplation.

"I'd rather not," Harry shot down the offer casually. "When Voldemort's dead, for good, I'm getting out of this wizard–crap."

"It's your legacy!" Sirius exclaimed in surprise. "And you call it 'crap'!?"

"Well, how would you see it?" Harry countered. "This 'legacy' has given me an extinct family, a world I really don't want to be part of, and a maniac who wants nothing more than my head on a spike. So yeah, my 'legacy' is crap."

Sirius was stunned into silence. Harry had a point, despite how he put it.

"Besides, when everything is said and done, I'm just another murderer. I'm no better than Voldemort, and I don't intend to pretend otherwise. I'm telling Dumbledore and Remus about what is going on, and to come here. Whether you like it or not."

Harry and Sirius stared at each other. Harry knew that Sirius wanted to take care of him, like he was supposed to have done. But Sirius had realised that, with everything Harry had been through already, there was no way Harry would let him. Harry turned around and left before Sirius could say anything else.

•••

Harry made his way, almost one in the night, towards Dumbledore's office. He came up to the gargoyle that guarded his office, and gave it the password.

_Why sweets, of all things?_

The stairs rotated and let him up to the headmaster's office. He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Harry entered and saw Albus Dumbledore sitting in his chair, and several other people around him, which made Harry freeze. An old man with a bowler in his hands. One man was tall and dark–skinned, and had a somewhat intimidating presence. There was a woman with vivid, bubble–gum pink hair, and finally, a short woman wearing laughably pink clothes, most particularly a cardigan. Everyone looked at Harry, and now, Harry was in deep shit. He was wearing what essentially equated to a soldier's uniform, along with a knife that was good for killing werewolves and a pistol with silver bullets. For the first time, he felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Ah, Harry. Good of you to join us. Remus should be joining us shortly as well," Dumbledore said casually.

The dark–skinned man drew his wand at seeing Harry's armaments, and in response, Harry put his hand on his pistol.

"You know my name," Harry told the man cautiously, his hand ready to draw his pistol. "Who are you?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said, his wand ready to unleash a spell.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Shacklebolt," Harry nodded lightly, his hand never leaving his pistol.

"Likewise, Mr Potter," Shacklebolt replied with a polite nod of his own.

The older man and woman who were clearly ministry officials looked at Harry with surprise.

"Harry? Harry Potter?" the woman asked, her voice high pitched and cutting Harry's ears. "The Boy Who Lived?"

"The Orphan Who Survived, more like," Harry said calmly. "What's going on?"

"Mr Fudge and Madam Umbridge," Dumbledore gestured at the officials, "are here to discuss the importance of the dementors staying here to capture Sirius Black."

"That won't be necessary," Harry stated, his eyes never leaving Shacklebolt and his hand never leaving his pistol.

Fudge and Umbridge looked at him like he was an ignorant child.

"Of course it is, dear boy," Fudge began with a warm smile. "Sirius Black is–"

"Innocent of the crime he was put into Azkaban for," Harry finished. "He never worked for Voldemort, and he never would."

Fudge's eyes widened at the name, but he cleared his throat.

"You may not realise the gravity of the situation–"

"I do, because I've captured the culprit who framed him."

"You what!?"

The pink–haired woman looked at Harry with strong interest. The pink–clad woman laughed.

"You? A thirteen–year–old boy? Even if Black wasn't the criminal we **know** he is, you couldn't apprehend a grown man, Mr Potter."

"Want to make a wager?" Harry said as his hand closed around the grip of his pistol. "If I'm right, I gain diplomatic immunity from the persecution of the Ministry of Magic as long as I exist. If I'm wrong, I'll play mascot for the Ministry. Imagine the talk; Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, whole–heartedly supporting the Ministry of Magic. The populace would go wild."

Harry noticed Shacklebolt's small smile which disappeared as quickly as it had come to be. He was amused and impressed.

"Come now, Mr Potter," Umbridge began. "You can't honestly–"

Harry stuck his left hand out to his side, and without sound, a cage with a small rat materialised in his hand.

"I present Peter Pettigrew. Unregistered Animagus who killed thirteen muggles and cut off his own finger before he transformed and scurried off," Harry said calmly. "And a supporter of Voldemort."

Harry saw Dumbledore smile just a little, but it was a sad one. Harry snapped his fingers, and a strong chair of metal, with chains appeared in front of him. He opened the cage and pulled the rat out.

"Professor, if you would?" he asked Dumbledore as he held the rat above the chair.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and the rat started growing, until a short man with rat–like features sat in the chair. With a snap of his fingers, the chains wrapped tightly around Pettigrew's arms and legs, restraining him.

"No, no, Harry, please!" Pettigrew begged. "I was your father's friend!"

"Some friend you were," Harry said and pulled out his knife. "You betrayed my parents, Peter. You betrayed Sirius, when you framed him for your murders."

"I had to get away! You understand, don't you!?"

"Oh yes, I understand," Harry said calmly. "I understand that you're a spineless coward who'd rather sell out his friends than endure a little pain."

With that, Harry slammed his knife into Pettigrew's thigh, and the man screamed in anguish. Harry put a hand to the man's mouth to dampen the loud sound. Then he twisted the blade and pulled it out.

"Now, do you confess, that you were the one who killed those muggles?"

"YES!" Pettigrew screamed in pain through Harry's fingers.

"And do you confess, that you serve Voldemort?"

Pettigrew was silent for a little, so Harry stabbed his knife through the man's hand.

"YES!" Pettigrew started crying from the pain.

Everyone in the room was made uncomfortable by Harry's brutal behaviour. The pink haired woman flinched at both stabs to the Animagus, and Shacklebolt, though stoic, was clearly at least somewhat disturbed by the interrogation.

"Now, Peter," Harry said with a dangerous tone of voice as he put his hand on Pettigrew's shoulder. "The million–pound question: did you reveal my parents' location to Voldemort?"

Pettigrew nodded and threw his head down in anger, tire and sorrow. Harry grabbed Pettigrew's uninjured hand and roughly pulled some of his fingers back, breaking them. The sound made the pink haired woman flinch, and Fudge and Umbridge were mortified.

"YES!" he screamed at the renewed torture.

"There you have it," Harry said casually. "A confession."

"You…" Fudge was about to say something, but he couldn't get it out.

"It's not called torture," Harry said. "It's called 'enhanced interrogation'. The American government is quite particular about the distinction."

Harry wiped his knife off in Pettigrew's jacket, and sheathed it again. Shacklebolt put his wand away, but he looked no less disturbed by Harry's display of ruthlessness.

"What happened to you?" the minister asked Harry with a horrified look on his face.

"Reality," Harry answered coldly. "Voldemort killed my parents. I was taken in by someone who could teach me how to get my revenge. I accepted. In short, reality."

"I'll have a word with that guardi–" Fudge was about to say, but Harry shot him down again.

"Don't bother. You'd never find her. And she's much harder to find than the Death Eaters in the Ministry."

Fudge's eyes bulged at that statement.

"WHAT!?" he roared, and took a step towards Harry.

Shacklebolt, much to Harry's gratitude, put his arm outs so that Fudge couldn't get close.

"Oh, it's true," Harry continued. "My mentor has spies in the Ministry. And they've rooted out several Death Eaters working there, right under your nose. I can list them, if you like."

"HOW DARE YOU!" Fudge shouted, but Dumbledore stood up.

"Harry, is this true?"

Harry nodded.

"It is. If I hadn't come here, my next plan had been to infiltrate the Ministry and assassinate the undercover Death Eaters."

Shacklebolt reached for his wand, but Harry shot it down.

"**If I hadn't come here**, keep up."

"You are no normal boy," Umbridge said, and something told Harry she thought she was above everyone else. "For the good of the school, and the safety of the students, I think it would be best if you came with us and let us detain you for a while."

"I'd rather rip out my own entrails, thank you very much," Harry said with an awfully polite smile for such a gory statement.

"Very well," the ugly woman said with a sickly–sweet smile. She leisurely reached for her wand, and aimed it at Harry. "_Incarcerous_."

Harry had less than a second to react, but that was all he needed. Ropes shot out of her wand and flew straight at him. Harry pulled his knife and swung it downwards; the silver blade cleft the enchanted ropes in half, and the rope disappeared. Harry then held his knife by the blade over his head, ready to throw. His movements were too fast for anyone to see when he transitioned grip and stance.

"Calm your bitch, Minister," Harry said calmly, with a hint of a threat.

"We're calm, Potter," Shacklebolt said. He stashed his wand into his robes, and gestured for his accomplice, who'd drawn hers as well, to do the same. She reluctantly did.

"Good. Then let's get to business," Harry said, his knife still trained on Umbridge. "Sirius Black is to be released of all charges. Peter Pettigrew is to be tried for the same crimes Sirius was, in addition to the murder of James and Lily Potter and attempted murder of their son, Harry Potter. He must be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss, after being found guilty."

"No, please," Pettigrew protested weakly, the pain almost knocking him out cold. The response was a knife in his knee, again too fast to see, after which he passed out.

"Alright," Fudge said begrudgingly.

"And just so that you will stick to your word," Harry said with a smirk, and pulled out a recorder, which was recording the entire conversation, "I'll be holding onto the verbal agreement."

"You little…" Fudge began, but stopped. He had learnt what Harry could do.

"You," Harry called to Shacklebolt's accomplice. "What's your name?"

She looked back at him and studied him a little before answering.

"Tonks. Auror."

Harry smiled a little.

"I like your hair. Really makes a statement."

Then, without any sound or trace, he disappeared.

•••

Harry appeared in the Shrieking Shack out of nowhere, and Sirius was startled at first. He then jumped up and shouted at Harry.

"WHERE IS HE!?"

"Being punished," Harry calmly answered. "Within a few days, you will be relieved of all charges, and be a free man. And Pettigrew will get a little smooch from a dementor."

Sirius calmed down just a little.

"You had no right–"

"I had more right than you, Sirius," Harry said loudly. "You were put in prison. He cost me my whole family."

"You still have me and Re–"

"You are NOT my family, Sirius," Harry yelled.

This was the first time Sirius had seen him upset.

"Pettigrew handed my family over to Voldemort! He was the one who set this whole mess called 'my life' into motion! **I** decide what happens to him, and he is losing his soul! End of story!"

Harry stared down Sirius, his temper flared, as it incredibly rarely did.

"You have your freedom. You're welcome."

With that, Harry disappeared without a trace once more.

•••

Harry sat in the common room. There had been no use in going to bed. There was only three hours left until classes began, though being Friday, Harry was just happy to get things over with.

Exams

Harry was reading up on Potions for the upcoming end–of–term exams. Many past months had been quiet, considering that the secret about the Potters' demise had been revealed. Students here and there gave Harry their condolences, and some expressed their sympathies. Harry had thanked everyone with a polite smile, but he just wanted it to end. Christmas had gone without incident, and the spring had been lovely. Harry had read more and more textbooks, and tried more and more spells. He'd quickly gotten to fifth year curriculum, and had even gotten to sixth in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Potions. Both Lupin and Flitwick had been greatly joyed by his progress, but Snape was as insufferable as ever. Harry had no idea what Snape's deal with him was. He'd wanted to probe the potionmaster's mind, but he'd quickly discovered that Snape had mental wards in place. Harry decided it would be best not to try and slip through them, as the despicable man would find out.

Also, Hermione Granger had become quite hostile towards him. Ginny had told him it was because he was far smarter and better at school than she was. That had made Harry crack a smile. Ginny went on to explain that Hermione was an overachiever, and despised anyone who got more praise for school work than her. And especially because no one saw Harry struggle whilst studying, whilst Hermione worked hard to be smarter.

Ginny had turned out to be a valued friend. Despite his reservations, Harry had felt himself letting his guards down around her, and was more forward with her than any other student. They spent time together, but she had come to know that Harry valued time alone a great deal, and so left him sometimes, saying she would come see him in an hour or two. Harry really appreciated it, and helped her with her homework when she asked him. She progressed quickly under his tutoring sessions.

But Harry had become concerned. Remus turned in sick a few days every month, and Harry quickly realized that it was always the day leading up to the full moon, the night of the full moon, and the day after. Harry also quickly came to the conclusion that Remus was a werewolf. Harry read in his DADA book that the wizarding world's werewolves were forced to transform every month, and that it was an excruciating experience. Harry tailed Lupin one full moon night and saw him enter the passage beneath the Whomping Willow.

Harry decided not to press the issue, but right now, a week until the next full moon, in the Gryffindor Tower, Harry decided to do something about it. He closed his book, went up to the dorm and gathered some alchemical compounds and ingredients, packed it all in a bag, and left. He ran through the castle and came up to Lupin's quarters, which were close to his classroom. He knocked on the door and waited. Harry heard shuffling, and Remus soon stood in the door.

"Harry," he said calmly. "What brings you here at this hour? It's curfew soon."

"The full moon does."

Remus stiffened.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"I mean exactly what I said," Harry elaborated. "Your next transformation is less than a week away."

Remus went even paler than he already was.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I insist you leave."

Harry expertly slipped past Remus into his living quarters, and despite himself, Remus closed the door to make sure no one listened.

"You're a werewolf, and as such you will transform into a wolf on the next full moon," Harry stated factitiously. "I want to help you with that."

"What? How?" Remus inquired.

"I'll try and change the nature of your curse," Harry said casually once more. "If I can subvert or replace certain qualities of your condition, I might be able to at least change how your lycanthropy works."

Remus looked at him wondrously.

"You can do that?"

"Only one way to find out. I want to try a magical ritual that my mentor devised. She used it to enhance my human body with inhuman traits," Harry stated as he started unpacking his bag. "She used the heart of a werewolf, powdered silver, the blood of a powerful vampire, wood shavings, molten lead and several other ingredients, incantations and symbols to do it, but she managed."

"What are you saying?" Remus asked bewilderedly. "You're not human?"

Harry smirked.

"If we go crazy about the details, you could say that I'm a human with two supernatural creatures' powers and traits, and my body simply incorporated them into itself when it adapted to try to survive, but essentially, I'm barely a full–blooded werewolf who has vampire–blood coursing through my body, which replenishes itself a little every day."

Remus sat down on a chair and watched Harry work.

"I use Hermetic and Egyptian paradigms for my rituals, but I'm going to try and incorporate some of the magic I've learnt here, since this is most likely the magic that started the curse in the first place. I'm going to try and unchain the curse from your soul and bind it to your body, instead. I've been reading your soul for a while, and from what I can see, the curse isn't part of your soul, it's leeched onto it."

Remus nodded, quietly and intently listening to what Harry was saying.

"Now, If I can separate it from your soul, I doubt it will stay gone for long. Curses of this magnitude are likely only removable by veritable gods, but I am confident that I **can** change it, if only slightly. So, I'm going to reverse engineer my mentor's spell on me, and try and do the same for you. Hopefully, you will become no more a full werewolf than I am. In doing so, you will never be forced to change, and you will have complete control over your form."

Remus was quiet for a little.

"Do you think you'll succeed?"

"I am confident it will, but the risk of failure is there. And it will hurt. A lot. Therefore, I will perform it on you as you transform next full moon, and keep casting it throughout the night. You'll be chained down with silver, and I'll perform the ritual. Will you agree, Remus?"

Remus thought about it a while before he nodded.

"Good. Now take of your clothes besides your underwear. I need to assess your body's receptiveness to the change, and I'll need samples of your blood."

Remus did as he was told and stood up, almost naked. Harry slowly walked around him, prodding his body at different places.

"You have a good musculature," Harry commented, "I'm sure you won't be out for long. Now, the blood sample," Harry said and walked over to his bag.

He pulled out a syringe and a small vial. He attached the vial to the syringe, and walked back over.

"Don't you need to clean it, or something?" Remus asked a little.

"Cleaning it is to prevent infections," Harry said calmly as he felt Remus' lower arm for a good vein. "You're a werewolf, so not only would an infection in your body get killed within a week, your body would adapt to it and make you immune to it in the future."

Remus nodded, and didn't flinch when Harry stuck the needle into his arm. Harry pulled back the syringe's stamp, and saw the blood get pulled in by the vacuum. When he had enough, he put a small ball of cotton to the tiny wound and withdrew the syringe.

"Put some pressure on the cotton," Harry said, and Remus did as asked.

Harry walked back over to his bag and put the syringe away, leaving him with only the vial of blood. He placed it on Remus' desk and sat down in front of it. He then started staring at it, and didn't move for several minutes. Finally, Harry got back up.

"You should be fine. Your blood is highly receptive to change, as I suspected. Now, I'll give you a few elixirs. You have to drink them all, okay?" Harry said, and Remus nodded.

Harry grabbed four flasks filled with various liquids. He went over to Remus and held one out.

"That's an elixir that will force your body to expend energy faster. You will have to eat a lot more, but your body will be fully prepared to deal with all stress, and you will feel better and more energised."

Remus downed it without question.

"Not bad, actually," he said and smacked his lips a little. "Spicy."

"Yeah, I never got used to all the bitter potions," Harry said with a smile, "so I found ways to make them all taste better. Second one," Harry held out the flask, "will numb your nerve endings. That means you won't be able to feel as much, but pain will be greatly decreased as well."

Just the same, Remus slung it back.

"The third makes your body highly dynamic. Shapeshifting is smoother, less painful and much easier, and the fourth is the world's most powerful aphrodisiac."

Remus eyes widened in shock as he was handing said flask back.

"WHAT!?"

"I'm kidding," Harry laughed loudly. "Oh, the look on your face! No, it's a potion that will make you feel… fleeting. Ephemeral. You'll feel like you're having an out–of–body experience, but don't let it fool you. You are still very much in control of your body."

"Why will I feel like that?" Remus inquired.

"Because your soul will become less ingrained into your flesh. It's almost like a poison, you could say. To alter your soul even the slightest bit, it must be free from your body to at least a certain extent. I'm giving it to you now so you can get used to the sensation, and so that your soul's ties to your body weaken."

Remus looked a little tense.

"Don't worry, the first potion keeps your body from letting it go completely. You won't die, but you could technically be called dying."

"Perfect," Remus said as he started putting his clothes back on.

"I'll get the things set up in the Shrieking Shack. Meet me there the afternoon of your transformation, and I'll begin the ceremony."

Remus, now fully dressed, looked at Harry for a while, then nodded.

"You really are your parents' son. Lily was sharp as a razor. And James was quick as a snitch. You combine their best traits."

Harry nodded, gathered his things and left.

•••

Harry sat in the great hall eating his breakfast. His body was sore from his morning routine, but he was otherwise fine. Tonight, Remus would transform, and Harry needed to be there. He'd neglected to mention to Remus that if he didn't complete the ritual, Remus' transformation would push his soul out, and leave a dead werewolf. Harry pushed the thought out of his head. It was Sunday, he had all day to prepare himself.

Ginny plopped down on the seat next to him. Harry grabbed her goblet and filled it with apple juice, her favourite.

"Thanks," she said and pulled some eggs and bacon onto her plate.

"You're welcome," Harry said as he handed her the sausages.

"Anything today?" she asked casually as she gathered all the things she wanted on her plate.

"A school project," Harry replied. "I probably won't be around most of the day, especially the evening."

"Alright," she replied and started eating. "Need any help?" she asked when she swallowed her first bite.

"No, but I appreciate the offer," Harry smiled at her.

He and Ginny had become good friends over the school year. He was happy to spend time with her.

"Mum told me to invite you over for the summer holiday," Ginny commented. "She really wants to meet you again."

"Well, I'll be going home first. Maybe later in the holiday," he said with a small wink, which made Ginny smile and blush a little.

"Sure."

"I really look forward to seeing my guardian again," Harry explained. "I haven't seen or spoken with her since I left for King's Cross."

"That's a long time," Ginny agreed. Then she remembered something. "Oh, yeah! My family's going to the Quidditch World Cup this summer, and we have a ticket left! Want to come with us? It's a little over a week before start of term."

Harry studied Ginny's face a little, taking in every little, delicate detail. He'd grown to like Ginny a lot.

"Sure. It'd be lovely," he replied with a smile. "So long as Ron doesn't try and attack me again."

Ginny burst into laughter.

"Don't worry about that!" she said, her voice quivering from laughing. "I'll make sure he doesn't."

"Then I'd love to come along."

Ginny threw her arms around Harry's neck. Hesitantly, Harry slowly draped his arms around her back. Physical contact like this was… something he'd need to get used to. A little voice in the back of his mind told him that Ginny was going to strangle him, but that was his paranoid, overzealous training in self–preservation that was talking. He let go, and she did as well. She was blushing quite heavily when she did.

"I'll see you later, then," Harry said and stood up.

"Later."

He left the great hall with a smile plastered on his face.

•••

"Alright, the full moon is coming in close," Remus said as he stood naked, chained by silver to some blocks of rock Harry had conjured up. No werewolf from the wizarding world could have done anything about it.

"Right," Harry said and walked over to the grown man with a small vial. "Drink this. It's a little of my blood. It will enhance the effects of the potions I had you drink the other day."

Remus leant his head back so Harry could pour it down his throat. Sinking it, Remus prepared himself for the pain that would soon ensue.

"If it doesn't work, I'll undo all the magic I cast on you, and we could try another time," Harry said quickly. "It shouldn't be necessary, I have everything I need. Now, we wait until you start transforming."

They didn't have to wait long. Just as he'd finished talking, Remus fell to a knee, grunting in pain.

"That didn't take long," Harry muttered as he went to work with his wand.

He waved it around, spouting incantations of various spells he'd found which could be moderately helpful. Shielding charms, healing spells, warding magic and some magics he'd never dreamt of. Then, when he was satisfied, he placed his wand on his little workstation, and went to work in his usual, ancient style of magic. He began walking around Remus, convulsing and screaming and changing, whilst throwing things at him. Powdered silver. Crushed wolfsbane. Lilies and rose thorns, and purified water. He chanted in ancient Egyptian tongues, spouting riddles and puzzles for the wolf to figure out, and slow down the transformation. He then prayed to Anubis, the jackal–headed lord of the underworld, to give this cub peace and control.

The candles which were littering the room all flared up in icy blue flames, and Harry felt the chill of the Du'at sweep through the Shrieking Shack. Anubis heard his prayer, and responded. Remus' transformation stopped, and started reversing. Soon, Remus was lying, naked and shivering in the cold, on the floor, grunting and groaning in pain. Harry undid his shackles and wrapped him in a blanket.

"It's done," he muttered in Remus' ear. "You are in control."

But Remus had already fallen unconscious.

•••

Remus awoke in his bed at Hogwarts, more tired and worn out than he'd ever felt after a transformation. His muscles and bones ached like never before, and his eyes wouldn't open. Suddenly, his nose was assaulted. He could smell coffee, bacon and eggs. And he heard _everything_. The rain clattering against the windows sounded like bombs going off mere metres from his head, and the sizzling of the frying bacon sounded like the rush of a river in his head.

"You'll get used to it within the next few days," he heard a whisper, but there wasn't anyone near him.

That was when he realized, that it was Harry's voice, and he could hear a beat. Slow, and steady. Harry's _heartbeat_. He could hear the boy's even, rhythmic breathing. Remus sat up, and he smelt the food coming closer.

"What is this?" he whispered as quietly as he could, but it still sounded like someone talking loudly, right into his ears.

"You have gained control over all aspects of your inner wolf," Harry quietly explained as he placed the bulging plate of a least two pounds of bacon and four pounds of scrambled eggs in front of him. "But you didn't transform as you should have, last night. So, you'll need to eat a lot these next few days. More than before."

Remus nodded slowly, and felt his body's ache slowly ebbing away.

"As an enhanced werewolf," Harry began his explanation as Remus started eating with a fervour, "you will have to restructure your life a little. You will have a greater appetite these next few months as your lycanthropy settles in place, and you will need to exercise regularly for the same duration, or your muscles will start cramping up, deteriorate and eventually wither. When your body has accommodated, however, you won't have to keep exercising to stay strong. All your senses are heightened to an extent they have never been before, but they will fade over time. You will have to exercise to learn to use them at will, and you can learn to change your shape at will. And it won't even hurt anymore."

Harry held out his hand, and it started growing fur and claws, resembling very much a werewolf's hand when transformed. But no other part of Harry changed.

"And given enough practice, you can learn selective transformation."

Remus nodded, finishing his food quickly.

"I've never been hungrier in my life," he commented as he leant back and rubbed his belly.

"Well, you'll be hungry again within the hour," Harry chuckled. "I'll come by with an exercise plan later. You need to follow it to the point. You can do more if you feel like it, but it will be the minimum you have to do to keep your muscles from shrivelling up into dried husks."

"How much exercise do you do?" Remus asked Harry.

"Four hours every morning and evening."

"Eight hours every day!?" Remus sputtered. "Why!?"

"So that I maintain my speed, strength and endurance," Harry calmly stated. "I am far above any human in terms of physical ability, and I can fight transformed werewolves in my human form. I like it that way."

Remus nodded his acceptance, and then stretched his body.

"I really feel like sleeping again."

"Go to bed. You'll wake up when you feel hungry again," Harry smiled and stood to leave.

"Your parents would be proud of you, Harry," Remus said before Harry could leave. "You're a natural genius, and a powerful wizard."

"Thanks."

With that, Harry left. He was feeling quite smashed himself.

•••

Exams were rolling around, and Harry nailed each one. He got full marks, came out on top of everyone in his year and was congratulated by all his teachers. Except for Snape, but Harry hadn't expected to. Remus came out with Harry in the mornings for some running and exercise, but he couldn't keep up for long. When he'd done the minimum, he would sit down and relax. He was astonished whenever he saw Harry's routine, not fathoming how a thirteen–year–old could keep going like that. Ginny had come out one morning, and was shocked when she saw Harry doing his exercises. He was blasting kicks and punches at a big, thick tree, not flinching the slightest when he struck hard enough to rattle the large oak, a feat Ginny doubted any ordinary human could possibly do with their bare hands. She quickly ran away again, hoping he didn't see her. Fortunately for her, the breeze had been with her, and her scent never carried to Harry. She didn't mention what she'd witnessed, but it always nagged her thoughts. Punching an old oak tree so that it rattled… no human could do that. Oak was notorious for making extremely hardy and sturdy wands. She was as delighted as ever to spend time with Harry, but she always wondered how he could punch and kick so hard.

End of term came rolling around, and Harry was packing his things. He would know not to bring his rifle next year, but he would bring the other things again. The incident in Dumbledore's office had taught him as much. And he'd had to hide around in the castle when Umbridge had sent Aurors to capture him at Hogwarts. When they came knocking, Harry made himself scarce. They'd looked everywhere for him, but they never found him. He made sure to hide his belongings as well, fearing they would be confiscated. It wasn't difficult. His vampiric power of obfuscation held strong against their revealing charms. Sometimes, just for fun, he followed them around as they searched for him. Occasionally, he whispered things like 'come find me' or 'getting warmer' in their ears. It amused him to no end when they whipped around and stared right through him.

Eventually, they gave up. Also on behalf of Dumbledore, who pulled some strings in the Ministry and declared Harry's actions in self–defence, and that Umbridge had acted out–of–line.

Due to his closeness with Ginny, Ron despised Harry more than ever, but Hermione's contempt had dwindled. She stopped seeing the point in holding a grudge just because Harry seemingly put no effort into his studies, and apologised for her behaviour. Harry accepted it with a smile and bade her sit with Ginny and himself at dinner. She graciously accepted.

But alas, the school year came to an end, and Harry rode with Ginny, Hermione and Ron back to King's Cross. They spent the whole trip talking, though Ron was less than pleasurable to be around. Harry never minded what Ron said, but Ginny definitely did. Words of insult were exchanged, and meanwhile, Harry was providing Hermione tips on a few spells she'd had difficulties with. Granted, they were fourth year Charms spells, but she had difficulties nonetheless.

"So all you have to correct is your wand–movement," Harry said. "It's too wide and flashy. It needs to be more tight and controlled," Harry said as he demonstrated the movement. "Like that."

"Right," Hermione said, and did it as well. "Like that?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Hermione spent the next few minutes getting the movement into routine, and then put her wand away, realising that they were pulling into the station.

"This is it," she stated and gathered her things. "The end of another year."

"Yeah," Ron added. "Didn't happen so much, right?"

"Right," Hermione said. "It was nice and peaceful."

Harry had to suppress a snicker. His year had been somewhat eventful, at least.

"Well, let's go!" Ginny exclaimed brightly. "Mum and Dad are waiting for us!"

They all left the compartment, with Harry as the last. He followed a little behind. They landed on the platform, and started looking for their parents.

"They're a little further down," Harry said, and everyone looked at him a little strangely.

"How'd you know?" Hermione asked.

"I saw them right before I hopped out of the train. Elevated position, and all that," Harry shrugged and gestured in the direction they were headed.

They pushed their way through masses of students and parents, saying 'sorry' and 'excuse me' all along the way. Soon, they came up on the Weasley matriarch and patriarch.

"Children!" Molly shouted gleefully and threw her arms around Ginny, Hermione and Ron. "How was your year!?"

"It was fine," Ginny said first with a smile.

"It was great!" Hermione said as the second.

"It was okay," Ron finished.

"That's nice!" Arthur exclaimed. "And Ginny, did you invite Harry to the World Cup?"

"Yeah, Dad! He said he'd love to go! Isn't that right, Harry?" she asked and turned around, but Harry wasn't where he'd been just a moment ago. "Harry!?"

Something told her to look in her pocket, and she did. There, she found a small, handwritten note.

_Sorry, I'm headed home. Come see me in The Leaky Cauldron sometime. I live in London, so there's a fair chance you might run into me in Diagon Alley. Otherwise, I might drop by the Burrow sometime before the World Cup._

_Yours, HP_

Ginny smiled a little.

"Harry!?" Arthur called out and looked around for the boy.

"It's alright, Dad," Ginny said calmly. "He's gone home already. But he'll come to the Burrow a little before the World Cup."

Arthur gave his daughter a strangle look.

"He lives in London. We might even run into him in Diagon Alley."

Arthur and Molly exchanged looks, but smiled at their children and their children's friend again. The Grangers and Weasleys parted ways, and went home. And from a support beam above, sitting on his father's old school trunk, Harry sat and observed the scene, cloaked from human perception. He smiled sombrely.

"Friends, eh?" he muttered to himself. "I'll have to get used to the thought."

And with that, he and his trunk simply disappeared from sight entirely.

•••

Harry walked through the door to the chantry, trunk right behind him. His mistress would already know he was home, and he had about a decade in the chantry until time in the outside world caught up to the Quidditch World Cup.

"I'm home," he called sarcastically and walked through the halls, until he reached his room. It was larger than the average Hogwarts classroom, and was filled with books, training equipment and had its own laboratory for magical work.

"Glad to have you back," his mistress' sultry voice came from behind him. "Have a good school year?"

He turned to face her, and did a double–take as he did.

"What happened to you?"

His mistress, who was embraced in her late 30's, looked no older than eighteen, and could easily pass for a fourteen–year–old, were it not for her very womanly… _features_. She was no less curvaceous, her bosom and hips still very appealing, which Harry determined to be intentional. She was also still a few centimetres taller than him.

"Tzimisce?" Harry asked.

"Tzimisce," Meerlinda confirmed. "I felt like I needed a new look. If I were seen in public like this, no one would recognise me as Meerlinda. I'd simply be Linda Watson."

"'Simply'. You're no less beautiful, and no human could ever attain your beauty. Anyone in the know would recognise you as a supernatural creature."

"But they wouldn't recognise me as Meerlinda," Meerlinda countered as she sauntered over to Harry. "That's what matters."

She wrapped her arms around Harry warmly, and he returned the affectionate gesture.

"I've missed you," he muttered into her hair.

"I've missed you, too," she replied.

They let go and walked side–by–side to the lounge which could be described only as a living room the size of the great hall at Hogwarts, where they sat in a couch.

"I'm going back after the summer," Harry informed his mistress. "And at the end of the summer, I'm going to a friend's house. They invited me to a sports event, and I accepted."

"That's nice to hear."

"And I'm going to spend the summer learning all about the Ministry of Magic. The minister knows you have spies there."

"You just had to tell them, didn't you?" Meerlinda scolded Harry light–heartedly. "Oh well, it's not like it was important to begin with."

They were both silent for a while before Harry shared his new information.

"I have a godfather."

"Oh?"

"Sirius Black. He lives here in London, as a matter of fact."

"Are you going to live with him then?" Meerlinda asked casually, but Harry knew that something, and what, worried her.

"I'd rather tear out my own intestines than leave you, Mistress."

Meerlinda snuggled the crook of his throat.

"I hoped you would say that, though the intestines would be of more use inside you."


	2. Chapter 2

A New Beginning

Harry, fourteen years old, was sitting outside Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley, reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. The story about Sirius had made front page. As he'd expected of the man, Fudge took credit for taking another look at the case himself in his spare time, and figured out something wasn't right. Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt had been given credit for apprehending Peter Pettigrew, and Pettigrew's Order of Merlin, First Class was taken back. He was shamed and disgraced, and sentenced to thirteen years in Azkaban, after which he would be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss. Harry snickered, as Fudge kept his word with the exact punishment Harry had demanded.

Additionally, Sirius had been compensated by the Ministry, and was given an Order of Merlin, First Class, as he would have been the true recipient without Pettigrew's deception. According to the newspaper, Sirius had draped the medal around a reporter's neck before he left the Ministry. Harry was amused by that, and couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Harry read on, and when he determined that it held no more news worth reading, he left it at the table and walked away. When Harry had been there with Dumbledore, Diagon Alley was very crowded, but that wasn't the case anymore. Harry walked leisurely down the street, browsing windows, looking for interesting things.

Harry eventually found a café and had some refreshments and took a sip of his coffee. He sat quietly for a little while, but was pleasantly surprised when he noticed a particular group of red–headed people coming his way from The Leaky Cauldron. Harry waited patiently, until the oldest of them all saw him.

"Harry!" Arthur exclaimed joyously. "So good to see you again!"

Harry stood up with a smile and shook the Weasley patriarch's hand.

"Likewise, Mr Weasley," Harry returned.

"Oh, come here, dear boy," Molly said and grabbed Harry in a bear–hug.

"It's lovely to see you again, Mrs Weasley."

The plumb woman let go, and Harry's emerald–green eyes immediately met Ginny's chocolate–brown, and Harry felt a small fluttering in his chest.

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said with a smile.

Ginny walked up to him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Hey, you."

Harry reluctantly let go again. He looked behind Ginny at her brothers.

"Fred, George, Ron," he greeted each of them with a nod, and even Ron returned the gesture.

Harry spent the entire afternoon shopping for school things with the Weasleys. He had fun, if he were honest. It wasn't exhilarating, like his fighting classes, or fun in the tough way, like his survival exercises. It was just plain old, boring fun. And Harry liked it. When they were finished, Harry was lugging around books that could help him advance his wizarding studies to seventh–year level. Harry was hoping to at least complete sixth year in the coming term. Ginny was astonished, and told Harry that Hermione would throw a fit if she knew. The Weasley elders were astonished by the level of study he'd dedicated himself to, but they both encouraged him.

When they were all done, Harry invited the Weasley family to dinner at a restaurant in Diagon Alley that he'd seen when he was browsing earlier. They tried to refuse, but Harry insisted that he treat them to the meal, since they were bringing him to the Quidditch World Cup two weeks later. Everyone enjoyed the meal, and sure enough, when they had all eaten their fill and the check came, Harry dumped a small pouch with galleons in the waitress' hand.

"Keep the change," Harry said with a wink and a smirk. The young witch was flustered and thanked him profusely before she left.

Every Weasley had been astonished by the charm he'd exuded right then, Ginny in particular. Soon, Harry and the Weasley's parted ways, and Harry headed home with his purchases.

•••

Harry was lying naked on his bed, panting and breathing heavily, sweat coating his entire body.

"Well, that was amazing," he rasped, out of breath.

"Glad you think so," Meerlinda said, casually lying naked next to him, seeming no worse for the wear. "I bet you're pretty happy about your endurance right now."

"Definitely," Harry breathed out raggedly.

He sat up, the covers sliding off to reveal his bare chest and back, both sporting a few scratch marks. Well, that's what he thought; to any other they might look like a tiger mauled him with its claws, though the wounds were slowly and steadily healing, closing up as if they were being undone. Meerlinda sat up as well, using the duvet to cover her bosom and retain some modicum of modesty. She knew Harry appreciated it.

"Why did we do that, again?" Harry asked. "Not that I didn't enjoy it. **Thoroughly**."

"Because you've been getting angsty lately," Meerlinda answered. "I don't blame you. You **are** a male, teenage werewolf, no matter your feelings. Your hormones were bound to act up sometime."

"Right."

Harry reached over to his nightstand and opened a drawer. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I would say 'cigarettes will kill you', but with you, that's definitely not the case," Meerlinda mused as Harry lit one and took a long drag.

"They help calm my nerves," Harry commented. "My survival instructor said that it would help me immensely if my nerves were calm, and if that means smoking, so be it."

Meerlinda gave him a stern look.

"Okay," Harry admitted, "so I might have come to like it. So what?"

"Nothing," Meerlinda replied calmly. "I just don't appreciate it when you talk around the subject. You've become too good at it."

"Thanks to you. You're the best teacher I could ever have."

Meerlinda leant over and planted a kiss on his cheek, before she let the duvet fall and got out of bed. Harry couldn't help but stare at her gorgeous, nude body. Not a drop of sweat on her pale body. Harry was starting to wonder if sex with a vampire would be counted as necrophilia. He could list at least three reasons why it _shouldn't_, without thinking about it. Besides, she was pale and cold _now_, but when they'd begun, Harry noticed that she used her blood to heat up her body and make herself rosy.

_Among other things._

Harry couldn't help the smirk that made its way onto his face.

"I'm taking a bath," Meerlinda said with a grin. "Want to join me?"

"Hell yes," Harry confirmed and eagerly jumped up from his bed.

•••

Harry was packing his things to leave for the Quidditch World Cup. He brought his pistol, bayonet, and a wooden stake, just to be on the safe side. Other than that, he brought a change of clothes and a little food. He would come back to get his things when he left for Hogwarts. Despite her quiet footsteps, Harry heard his mistress walk up to him.

"Have a fun trip," he heard her voice behind him. "I might not be here when you return."

"Dr Dee is acting up again?"

"Yes. He intends on usurping princedom from Anne Bowesley. Personally, I think she is a tolerable Prince, even if she is too pompous for my tastes."

"Glad I won't be here for the fighting," Harry commented. "Dee is a dangerous foe, but I'm honestly more for him as Prince. I like him."

"You've met him?"

"A few times. He's a nice man to make conversation with."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'm a ghoul. I never told him who my domitor is. He seemed understanding enough. He prefers logic to emotions, a sentiment I can relate to."

"I see."

Harry turned around with his backpack slung over his shoulder, ready to go.

"If I don't see you until I go to Hogwarts, I'll miss you," Harry said as he leant in and embraced his guardian.

"I'll miss you too," Meerlinda returned the embrace warmly. "Make sure to stay safe. I have a feeling something bad will happen to you."

"I felt it too. I'll be careful."

With that, Harry walked through the hallways and corridors of the chantry, and left the place he felt at home the most.

The Burrow

Harry felt his feet touch down on soft soil. He looked around at Ottery St Catchpole, Devon in the English countryside. Ginny had informed him that it was a few miles north from the Weasley family home, and Harry started towards the south. He walked for almost three hours until he saw a house that would best be described as 'crooked', without using disrespectful words. It was extremely tall, and looked like it would topple over any minute, but he was certain it was far stronger and sturdier than it looked. He came up to a large garden, and realized he'd arrived from the back of the house. He circled around, so as to arrive from the front, like a proper guest. He trotted over the front yard, which resembled more of a driveway. He walked up to the front door and knocked. It was six in the morning, so Harry felt a little bad for probably waking them up. He hadn't considered the time when he left London by train the previous evening, and then walked and used his magic to get him the rest of the way. It had been a very lovely hike, and Harry had enjoyed the fresh air and scenery.

Harry heard some quiet rustling from inside, and soon Molly opened the door, wearing nightclothes and carrying some knitting needles. Her face brightened when she saw him.

"Oh, Harry," she said in hushed tones, "it's so good to see you! Come in, come in!"

Molly ushered Harry inside, and he smiled at her graciously.

"Sorry for coming this early, Mrs Weasley. I didn't think about the time when I left."

"Oh, it's quite alright, dear boy," she brushed off the apology. "Come in and sit. I was just making some tea. Would you like a cup?"

"Yes, please," Harry replied happily.

He sat down in the sofa in the living room, and Mrs Weasley came in afterwards with a tray of a tea pot, two mugs and biscuits.

"The others will be up soon enough," Molly informed him. "They were planning on leaving around nine, so you came at a good hour."

She smiled as she poured him some tea and poured some for herself, with Harry offering a small 'thank you' as she handed him the mug.

"Is it happening far from here?" Harry asked as he took a sip.

_Camomile and honey. Very lovely combination._

"I don't know," Molly replied. "I think it's in Dartmoor, but I'm not certain."

"Dartmoor's a good week's travel by foot from here," Harry commented. "I don't think your children are up for a trek that long."

Molly chuckled quietly, so as to not disturb anyone sleeping.

"You're taking a portkey there, dear boy!"

"What's a portkey?" Harry inquired curiously. He hadn't come across the word in any of the books he'd bought in Diagon Alley.

"Oh, I forgot!" Mrs Weasley gently tapped herself on the forehead. "You were raised in Muggle environment. Well, a portkey is a magical item which is enchanted to go to a specific destination at a specific time. Say, Dartmoor at ten. It can be virtually anything. A boot, a tin, a comb. What matters is that, like apparition, it takes one or several people from one destination to another, instantly."

"That sounds neat," Harry commented. "Is it difficult to make portkeys?"

"You need a Ministry official to make one, dear boy. Making one without is illegal, and the Ministry can track when an unauthorized portkey is used."

"I see."

Suddenly, Harry and Molly heard a door open, and a tired Arthur walked down the stair.

"'Morning Molly. Harry." He nodded at each of them and started towards the kitchen, until he whipped around and looked at Harry.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, hushed as well, and walked briskly over to the smiling boy. "I'm happy to see you! When did you arrive?"

"A few minutes ago, Mr Weasley."

"That's lovely!"

Arthur went out and got a mug of his own before sitting down with Molly and Harry, and poured himself some tea.

"So, Harry. I hear you were raised among muggles."

"I was."

"Then could you tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?" Arthur asked before he sipped his tea.

Harry was a little astonished at the ignorance behind the question.

"Well, it's a children's toy," Harry explained. "When the child takes a bath in the tub, you put it in, and it just, floats around."

"So it's purely for entertainment?"

"Well, yes."

"I see," Arthur said and nodded gravely.

_You've got to be kidding me._

"And then how–" Arthur was about to ask another question, but he was interrupted.

"Harry!" Ginny squealed as she walked down the stairs. She ran over and hugged him fiercely.

"Well, it's lovely to see you as well, Ginny," Harry said, "but maybe you should get dressed first."

Ginny was wearing only a nightgown. Not of the particularly modest kind, either. It wasn't extremely revealing, but clinging to him in it probably wasn't a great idea with her parents right beside them. Ginny instantly flushed and ran back upstairs, shouting 'stupid, stupid, stupid' at herself.

"Goodness me," Molly said, slightly blushing with embarrassment over her daughter's sleeping clothes. "I'm sorry Harry, she decided to try some new clothes–"

"It's fine, Mrs Weasley," Harry reassured the kind woman. "I don't particularly care what she wears, but everything has its place and time."

Molly and Arthur both nodded in agreement.

"You are a wise boy, Harry," Arthur said. "I would be proud to call you my son."

Though he didn't reveal it through his smile, the comment cut a deep wound in Harry's heavily scarred heart, and he felt tears trying to push their way free from his tear canals.

_Son…_

"I take from my guardian," Harry said, still smiling. "She's a wise woman herself, and sharp as a razor. Nothing gets by her."

"Well, she seems to have done a fine job of raising you, regardless."

"I think so, too."

A few memories of gruelling training sessions and broken bones momentarily crawled into his mind, but he pushed them down. He'd asked her for it. Harry made casual small talk with the Weasley parents while Ginny changed, and soon, most of the Weasleys were gathered, and even Hermione, as they were about to leave.

"Blimey good to see you, Harry," Fred greeted Harry with a quick handshake.

"You're always a sight for sore eyes," George greeted him as well with another handshake.

"You two as well," He greeted them back.

Ron came down, and looked a little sheepish when he saw Harry. Nonetheless, he walked over and stuck out his hand.

"I overreacted last year," he muttered quietly. "I'm sorry."

Harry was a little taken aback. Most of the people he'd ever dealt with before Hogwarts were pretty awful people, and Harry had mingled with them perfectly. Ron's statement brought a smile to his lips.

"How about a clean slate?" he suggested. "I'm Harry Potter."

He took Ron's offered hand, and smiled.

"Pleased to meet you."

Ron couldn't help the smile that formed on his face, and he shook Harry's hand.

"Ron Weasley. You too."

Right then, two grown men came down from the stairs. One of them was very tall and thin, but he dressed like a rockstar. Muscle–shirt, denim pants and dragon–hide boots. He wore his long red hair in a ponytail, and he had an earring with a fang dangling off of it. And he was really tan for a redhead.

The other was short and stocky by comparison, but he was very muscular, starkly contrasting his brother. His red hair was shorter than the first, but it was still about shoulder length. He looked tan, until Harry realised that he was just extremely freckled. He wore a t–shirt, and Harry noticed the large burn–scar on his arm.

The tall one walked over to Harry first.

"You must be Harry," he stated with a polite smile. "I'm Bill, the oldest Weasley child. Pleasure to meet you."

Harry smiled back and took Bill's offered hand.

"Pleased to meet you as well, Bill."

The shorter one came up right behind him with a smile as well.

"I'm Charlie, the second–oldest. Happy to meet you as well, Harry."

"Likewise, Charlie."

•••

Harry and Ron were making conversation to properly introduce themselves as they walked. Harry found that he actually rather liked Ron. But unlike Harry, who was always in control of his body and mind, Ron was a normal teenager, and he was going through a strange time in his life. Harry understood. After all, he'd gone through some pretty drastic changes himself, even though they were wildly different in nature.

"And I really think Krum is gonna win!" Ron said excitedly. "He's the greatest seeker in the century!"

"Really?" Harry inquired, but he wasn't really paying attention.

Quidditch didn't really interest him, nor had any muggle sport. But when his first friend invited him, damn it, he would go.

"No, not really," Fred interjected. "Ron's just a huge fanboy."

"And you don't have any statistics to back it up, Ron," Hermione chastised.

Without Arthur noticing, Ron showed Fred a rude gesture with his hand. That was one of the things Harry enjoyed about the Weasleys. They were normal. Well, as normal as a wizarding family could be, but normal nonetheless. Meanwhile, there was Harry. A fourteen–year–old whose greatest talent was assassination, who could only barely be considered human. The curse inhabiting his blood, and the primal instincts in his mind served as constant reminders of it. He was a freak, an abomination of nature. An outcast. A pariah. And he knew that his destiny was drenched in blood, void of light and kindness. Not like these people. These regular, happy people surrounding him. Harry would never regret the things he'd done or what he'd become, or might still be changed into. But he was sad that Voldemort had killed his parents. If he hadn't, Harry might become just another person. Regular old Harry. He would have gone to school at eleven, graduated when he was seventeen. Had a job. Get a wife and kids. And then die in his sleep at ninety. Or, maybe a hundred and fifty. Harry wasn't sure of the life expectancy of wizardkind.

"Arthur!" a male voice bellowed from ahead of them.

Harry looked up and saw Amos Diggory, a Ministry official, if Harry's memory and his mistress' spy's report served him correctly. A member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Beside him stood a tall boy, with a striking resemblance to him. Harry could only assume it was Cedric, his seventeen–year–old son and only child. Harry made sure to take note of the boy, for future reference.

"Amos!" Arthur roared as well. "How are you!?"

"Good, good! You!?"

"As good as ever."

Arthur turned to the children he escorted.

"Children, this is Amos Diggory and his boy, Cedric," Arthur introduced them. "You may know him from Hogwarts. He's beginning his last year in the next term."

Though some were less enthusiastic, all of the children greeted them, and Hermione blushed a little at Cedric's smile. Harry, having been raised with charm, manipulation and etiquette at his fingertips, walked up to the pair.

"Good day, Diggory Sr, Diggory Jr," he greeted them both by their surnamed, something he'd learnt to do from his mistress. It showed deep respect and reverence, which might open your prey to further suggestion in the future. "I'm Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to make both your acquaintances." He held his hand out to Amos.

"Potter?" Amos' eyes widened. "I must say, I was sad to hear about your parents. They were most beloved, and are sorely missed."

Harry nodded as Amos shook his hand affectionately. Harry found it strange that almost every adult wizard knew his parents. Harry then shook Cedric's hand.

"Pleasure," Cedric said with a smile.

"Likewise," Harry returned.

Just then, he caught sight of an old boot behind the pair.

"That the portkey?" he asked Amos and nodded towards the boot.

"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed and waved the Weasleys closer. "Come, come, it'll go soon. Just around twenty minutes."

As people sat down to relax until the portkey was going, Harry walked over to Amos and sat down beside him.

"With all due respect, Mr Diggory, how does everyone know my parents?"

"Right!" Amos realised. "You don't know."

"Right."

"In the war against You–Know–Who, your parents were some of the most fearsome fighters on the frontlines," Amos explained. "They were vocal about their opposition against him, and fought with everything they had. They were war heroes," Amos said with a smile. "Then Lily became pregnant with you, and they were forced to go into hiding, so they could have you. Sadly, a despicable man called Peter Pettigrew, who was the secret keeper of their Fidelius charm, turned out to be a traitor, and a lackey to You–Know–Who."

"Right, I read that in the Daily Prophet. So, they were war heroes?"

"Indeed, dear boy! The best the wizarding world had to offer! I'm sure you will achieve great things, just like your parents!"

_Why does everyone call me 'dear boy'?_

"Thank you for the information, Mr Diggory. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Harry," Amos said with a bright smile.

_Why do most wizards seem so uncharacteristically nice? It's unnerving. When I'm surrounded with Kindred, I at least know that they have no qualms about killing me, even if they don't necessarily show it._

The boot started glowing blue, and Arthur was alert.

"Everyone, grab the portkey! It's going any second now!"

Harry didn't think twice, and followed orders. He grabbed it, along with everyone else, and felt a tug behind his bellybutton. Soon, it felt as if he was dragged through timespace itself at lightspeed, and he became disoriented. But just as quickly as it had come, he felt it lessen again, and he instinctively braced his knees for impact. He hit the ground and rolled over his shoulder into a standing position. He looked around, and saw plenty of other wizards stumbling, as if recovering from a trip themselves. Of his own entourage, only himself, Arthur and the two Diggorys remained standing.

"Nicely done, Harry," Arthur complimented him and looked at his children and Hermione. "Not many can boast landing on their feet after their first portkey."

Harry smiled weakly, his head still light and dizzy from the trip, and Arthur clearly saw it in the boy's eyes.

"You still look like a mess, though," he laughed.

As if to only emphasise Arthur's statement, Harry stumbled backwards, but managed to catch himself with his left leg.

"I could do without the spinning," Harry admitted.

"At least you didn't kiss the ground," Ginny said as she stood up and spat repeatedly at the ground to get the dirt out of her mouth.

"At least," Harry laughed at Ginny's expense.

"I wouldn't recommend laughing at Ginny, mate," Fred said as he stood up. "She's got one hell of a Bat–Bogey hex."

"She can't use magic here," Harry said with a smirk. "And when we get back to Hogwarts, I can use the Shield Charm to defend myself."

Amos, Cedric, Arthur, Hermione, Fred and George all looked at Harry with astonishment. Arthur was the first to speak.

"Harry," he began cautiously, "can you perform the Shield Charm?"

"Yeah, it's quite easy. Why?"

Amos and Arthur looked at each other for a few moments, neither believing what they were hearing.

"Harry, most adult wizards can't use the Shield Charm very well."

It was then that Harry realised that he'd unintentionally flaunted his prowess with magic.

"Why not?" Harry asked, internally berating himself for the slip of tongue. "It seems almost vital to learn, wouldn't you say?"

The ones who realised the difficulty of learning the spell were in awe at Harry's claim of it being 'quite easy'. Soon, however, they shrugged it off, but Cedric still kept attention to Harry.

Soon, the Weasleys and co. parted ways with the Diggorys, and headed through a huge camp filled with hundreds or thousands of tents. Along the way, Harry saw several individuals who would be welcomed in a _cirque du freak_, and though he'd seen strange things, some of them paled in comparison to what he saw here. Finally, they came up on a tent with a sign reading 'Weasley' outside, but from Harry's extensive use of tents, he instantly knew that it was far from large enough to support nine people. It could support two relatively well, and three would be quite a stretch.

"Are you sure this is the right tent?" Harry asked Arthur, a little concerned. "It's only large enough for three."

Arthur smiled at Harry, and then headed inside without a word. Every other member of the group headed in after him, and Harry would have dropped his jaw if he still did that, when he was the only one still outside. He cautiously walked inside, and saw enough space to support the entire Weasley family comfortably for weeks.

"What the…" Harry muttered to himself and looked around, shocked. "Fuck muggle tents, I'm going magical from now on."

"Language," Hermione said sternly, standing next to him.

"Sorry, **mom**," Harry retorted with a smirk. "I forgot that I'm not old enough to understand how bad everything coming out of my mouth is."

Hermione stared at him with a face that clearly said 'what?'.

"That did sound better in my head, I agree," he sheepishly excused his statement.

Hermione shook her head with a smile and walked over to the part where she and Ginny would sleep for themselves. There were even hammocks for them all to sleep in. Harry looked to the kitchen section, and saw an old petrol stove and a sink, without a faucet. There were buckets to fetch water beside it, though.

"Make yourself at home, Harry," Arthur called and brought Harry out of his stupor. "You'll be sleeping over there, with me and the boys," he said and pointed to another section with seven hammocks.

"Understood," Harry said on instinct, but cringed internally at it.

_You're not a soldier, you're a school boy on a trip with his friend's family. Get it together, Harry, you're slipping._

The World Cup

Harry was sitting in his hammock, reading one of his new books. He'd had to go to a particularly unsavoury part of Diagon Alley to finds books on the subject, but he found that it was well worth it. Of course, he'd used his vampiric ability of deception to disguise himself. No one would approve of **the** Harry Potter going to Knockturn Alley to buy books about dark magic. He was currently reading _Magick Moste Evile_, a book detailing dark spells and how to use them. Harry wasn't particularly eager to use them, but if he were going up against a dark wizard who was known to his followers as 'The Dark Lord', and all his followers were known as dark wizards, it would be good to know what they might be capable of using against him. Harry thought that some of the magic in there actually seemed harmless compared to what he himself was capable of, but then he came to the 'Unforgivable Curses'.

_Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse. Crucio, the Cruciatus Curse. Imperio, the Imperius Curse. Huh. Interesting._

Harry kept reading, and when he saw the Killing Curse's description as a blast of green light, something in Harry stirred. A nightmare, a long–forgotten dream of green light and a woman, likely his mother Lily, shouting his name, came into his head.

_That's what killed them. That's what He used._

Harry closed the book softly, as he'd noticed that it excluded some faint, ghostly wail when slammed shut. He'd rather not anyone know what he was reading, which was also why he'd replaced the cover with that of one of his school books from last year. He put it down in his bag and got up to stretch his legs, when Arthur came into the tent.

"We're going in two hours, children. Get ready!"

With a smile, he was gone again, and the boys, Harry excepted, started buzzing with excitement. Ginny did as well, but she controlled herself more. Hermione was only marginally more excited than Harry, but being there with friends made her happy. Harry couldn't help but feel the outcast, like he always did. He mingled and socialised, but he didn't connect. He never did. He couldn't. All these people around him… they had no idea what he'd gone through, what he'd become, and what he would have to do. Killing Voldemort was his highest priority, and he would do it the best way he knew how; getting close with a poisoned knife, and praying to Amun that he remain hidden until he struck.

Harry walked out of the tent, and felt around with his extraperceptual senses. He could feel the magic around him now. He'd never been able to accurately sense it when he was at Hogwarts, but he was surrounded by ancient and powerful magic then. It had likely overwhelmed senses that didn't know what to look for. But here, in muggle country, with all these individuals around, he could start getting a feel for the kind of magic they were connected to. It felt similar to what he normally felt from mortal sorcerers, but it was different enough that he could easily distinguish between them.

"Hey," he heard Ginny say quietly behind him.

"Hey," he returned.

She came up and stood beside him, her gaze lingering on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"A lot of things are," Harry replied honestly, "but I deal with them."

"Right. You 'deal with them'," she said herself, remembering what he'd said early in his first school year.

"Yeah."

They stood silently, and Ginny still watched Harry. He was certainly strange for a fourteen–year–old. And so mature, as well. Like he was actually far older. She shook the thought out of her head, and started back into the tent, when she felt Harry's hand on her wrist. She looked at him, but he hadn't even turned to look at her.

"You're my first friend, Ginny," he said, but his face remained ever stoic. "I've been through a lot, and I might tell you everything… eventually. But I'm not used to 'friends', and I need time to adjust. I've only ever placed my trust in my guardian, and I feel unsafe placing it in others, for now. Just let me get to it at my own pace. Please."

Ginny wriggled her wrist out of his grip and took hold of his hand. She squeezed it comfortingly with a small smile on her lips, before she went back inside. Harry smiled sombrely at the gesture.

•••

The large gathering of redheads and friends were making their way to their seats, in a box from where they could see everything. Harry, despite having been at altitudes far greater, was still a little nervous at sitting in such a high place without harness and parachute. Part of his training had involved HALO jumping from up to 30.000 ft into hostile territory in Afghanistan when he had just turned twelve. It had been his first and only military operation so far, and the adult soldiers with him, while not entirely informed about him, had seen some of his hand–to–hand and shooting up close when they tested him for the operation. It had felt so liberating, falling through the air. But he had been wearing a parachute, and he'd had to open it at 120 ft. He felt very nervous as his altitude meter showed him falling into the 400 ft zone, 300, 200, and then 120 ft. But once he pulled the chute, all fear vanished, and he just had to nail his landing, which he did.

Returning to the present, Harry tried not to think of the height at which they sat.

"Scared of heights?" Bill asked, who sat to Harry's left.

"To an extent," Harry admitted.

"Don't worry," Bill said with a reassuring smile. "There are charms on the ground preventing anyone from falling to their death. It feels like landing on a really soft cushion."

"Really?" Harry asked and looked carefully over the edge. "I'd think a drop like that would kill anyone, regardless of magic."

"There's magic for almost everything, Harry," Bill said with a chuckle. "You've nothing to worry about."

Harry nodded and sat back in his seat. He would try his best to enjoy the experience. Of course, an undesirable someone had to make an appearance.

"Well, well, Arthur," came a dawdling voice, and Harry swore he'd heard one almost identical to it somewhere else. "What a surprise to see you here."

Harry turned around and saw a man so very much resembling the boy behind him.

_Lucius Malfoy. Death Eater._

Harry was instantly alert, and happy he'd brought his knife and pistol, both of which rested in a custom shoulder holster inside his jacket. Draco looked at Arthur and the Weasleys first, but his eyes soon fell on Harry, and they widened slightly when Harry flashed him a small, wicked grin.

"Father," Draco tapped his father on the arm. "That's him. Potter, the one who attacked me."

Lucius turned his gaze towards Harry, and Harry stood up with a smile and walked around the cluster of seats the Weasleys, Hermione and himself sat in. Arthur was about to stand and diffuse the situation, but Harry made a hand gesture for Arthur to remain seated and calm.

"If I recall correctly, which I always do," Harry began with a smirk, "you're the one who attacked me. I merely defended myself."

"You strung me up by the ankle, you filthy half–blood," Draco spat.

"Now, now," Lucius said and quieted his son. "Let me handle it." Lucius then turned to Harry with a menacing glare. "So you're the one who humiliated my son?"

"He made a fool of himself," Harry countered calmly. "He didn't see the trap I'd laid for fun."

"You make traps for fun?" Lucius sneered.

"Yes, I do. I like to go camping in forests, so I make snares for rabbits and foxes." Harry remained calm and smiling. "Ever tried fox, Mr Malfoy? It's quite delicious, if you get used to the **wild** taste of a predator, that is."

Lucius also remained calm.

_This is what I'm used to. __**These**__ people, I understand._

"That does not change the fact that you humiliated a Malfoy, Mr Potter. I can have you expelled from Hogwarts."

"Fine," Harry shrugged his shoulders.

Everyone there was shocked, even the Malfoys.

"Harry, you can't–" Ginny was about to say, but Harry quieted her with a hand gesture.

"But if you **do** get me expelled," Harry said quietly and walked close to Lucius, and beckoned for him to lean closer, which he did, "I will plant an anonymous tip of Death Eater activity happening in the Malfoy estate. I know people who can make it happen, and who'll listen to whatever I accuse you of. Fudge isn't as powerful as you might believe, and I'm on to you," he whispered in Lucius' ear.

Lucius stood back to his full height, glared maliciously at Harry, then walked over to his seat, Draco looking at him bewilderedly and following behind him. Harry turned back to the Weasleys, and they were all shocked speechless, but Arthur, Bill and Charlie the most, who somewhat understood what he'd have to say to get such a reaction out of Lucius Malfoy.

"Harry," Arthur began suspiciously, clearly rattled that a fourteen–year–old could force a wizard of Malfoy's standing to retreat with mere words, "what did you tell him?"

"I'll tell you when we go back to camp," Harry replied, his face once again stoic and calm.

He sat down, and ignored the stares he got from the others, and watched the game.

•••

Harry and the others were walking back to camp after the match. Most were talking about the game, how amazing it was. But the adults all kept an eye on Harry. Not that he didn't understand why. All of a sudden, screaming started from the direction of the camp, and loud laughter. Arthur stopped and made sign for the others to as well. He listened intently, just as everyone else did. He soon realised that something was very wrong, though Harry had suspected it the moment he saw Lucius.

"Children, stay here!" Arthur said with authority in his voice. "Bill, Charlie, follow me!"

Arthur, Bill and Charlie drew their wands and started towards the camp, but they quickly noticed Harry following along.

"Harry, I told you to stay!" Arthur shouted at him. "It's not safe!"

"I'm not your son, Mr Weasley," Harry said coldly. "I mean no disrespect, but I am going."

"Harry, don't!" Hermione shouted. "It's dangerous!"

"So am I," he said stoically as he ran ahead of the adults.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted at the crowns of the trees. "Stay here!" he yelled at Hermione and his children.

The three adult Weasleys ran after Harry, and when they came to the edge of the forest, they saw him kneeling on a masked man dressed in black robes lying on his stomach, the man's wand arm twisted painfully behind his back. With a final pull, they witnessed the boy break the man's arm, and then hit him in the back of his head with the handle of a large knife with a silver blade. They were shocked by the brutality, and then, without hesitation, Harry ran off into the fray, knife ready to deal death. Bill and Charlie looked at their father with horror painted on their faces, only to see the terror on his.

"Start evacuating those who can't defend themselves!" he shouted at them and brought himself out of his stupor. "Send them into the forest!"

His sons nodded and went out into the camp, wands in hand. Arthur remained and stared at the Death Eater on the ground, unconscious and with a broken arm. Both of which caused by a fourteen–year–old boy. He shook himself and ran into the now blazing camp in order to save as many people as he could.

•••

Harry withdrew his blade from the throat of the masked man. That was the third he'd dropped this night, and only the second he'd killed. The Death Eaters sure weren't sharp. Harry couldn't imagine how people had feared them in the war.

_Must have gotten rusty._

He got up and ran towards a small group of them, about seven. He used burning tents as cover from sight as he approached, and when he was within a metre of them, it was already too late. His knife effortlessly slashed the man's throat, even through the robes. His companions noticed him fall, and looked around.

"WHO'S THERE!?" one of them shouted.

"STAY IN FORMATION!" another commanded.

All of a sudden, the second was pulled away from the group and dragged through a gathering of tents. He was screaming all the while, until his scream was cut short. None of them had seen what happened.

_Five._

There was a loud 'crack', and one of them fell over, dead where he landed.

_Four._

"WHAT'S GOING ON!?"

"I DON'T KNOW! FORM A CIRCLE!"

They did as told, and covered all angles. Well, almost all angles. A hand blasted out of the ground and grabbed one of them by his ankle. He didn't get to scream.

_Three._

Looking down, the Death Eaters saw their comrade sticking out of the ground, buried from his chest down, and his throat cut. His head was attached only by his spine and the flesh on the back of his neck.

"RETREAT!" the supposed leader shouted, and blasted off with a 'crack'.

The others did the same, and soon, everything in the camp besides the cackling of fires everywhere was silent. The heat was oppressing, and the smog was heavy as Harry slowly emerged from the ground, his face and clothes covered in blood and dirt. His face was stoic as ever, and he looked up to see a large, green bolt be fired into the sky, which formed a large image of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth like a tongue. He closed his eyes and relaxed his grip on his bloodied knife. He inhaled deeply and relaxed.

It wasn't long before some wizards popped into being all around him and shouted a spell Harry had intended to try for some time.

"STUPEFY!"

The Stunning Spell, twenty red bolts of light blasted into him. Harry fell to his knee, feeling the effects of the spell, but he didn't go down.

"That's some 'thanks'!" he growled angrily.

"STUPEFY!"

Twenty more red bolts struck him again, and he gasped under the concussive force of the spells. He was now on his hands and knees.

"How isn't he down!?" a man shouted with a frightened voice.

"Keep blasting him!" another said.

"STUPEFY!"

Harry shouted in pain, but didn't go down. He looked defiantly up at the man clearly in charge, an aging man whose very presence screamed authority and power.

"That the best you can do?" Harry asked with a vicious smile and malevolent glare in his eye. "Fuckin' pansies."

"STOP!" Harry heard Arthur's voice roar. "THAT'S HARRY POTTER!"

Harry looked up at Arthur as he came running. Arthur was shocked at Harry's appearance. Harry was dirty, covered in blood, had a small stream of blood coming from his own mouth thanks to the fifty–something Stunners he's just taken at practically point–blank range. Harry could feel his ruptured liver, kidneys and spleen slowly recovering, thanks to his lycanthropic properties. But what really brought home the horror in Arthur was Harry's defiant, loathing and somewhat wild glare. Like a bear that just wouldn't go down.

"Harry!" Arthur looked at Harry with saddened eyes. "What happened!?"

Harry breathed raggedly. His body had never been subjected to harmful spells cast by _wizards_, making it all the more uncharted territory with the extent of his magic–resistant body, and repairing the damage was taking a lot of energy out of him. He willed up some of the power of his vampire blood to speed up the recovery.

"The Death Eaters retreated," Harry panted out. "I overwhelmed them."

Arthur's eyes flickered to the bloody knife in Harry's right hand, and the blood splattered all over him. His eyes scanned the surroundings and saw the corpses clad in black.

"Tell me you didn't do this, Harry!"

"Oh, but I did," Harry said with a wicked smile.

He let out a strained chuckle, but stopped when he coughed up more blood.

"Arthur, what's happening!?" Amos Diggory shouted when he and his son came up to the group of Ministry officials.

Cedric's eyes widened in shock and disbelief as he saw Harry with his vicious grin.

"Harry?" he asked aloud.

"Get back, all of you!" the old man who Harry presumed was the leader of them shouted. "We're arresting a criminal!"

"For protecting innocent people from death, Mr Bartemius Crouch?" Harry rasped out with a chuckle. "Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"

Everyone turned their eyes to Harry in surprise, but none more so than Crouch himself.

"How do you know about me, boy!?" he spat.

"The Ministry should consider upgrading its security," Harry openly mocked the old man. "It's quite pathetic, really."

Crouch was angered greatly by the insinuation that the boy had infiltrated the most well–guarded part of the Ministry of Magic. He slashed his wand and threw an invisible spell at Harry, which cut him across his face and opened a large wound.

_The Severing Charm._

Harry's smile didn't fade in the slightest.

"Is that all?" Harry asked once more with a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. "Come on, old man! If you're gonna hurt someone, make it fucking hurt!" he shouted at Crouch.

Harry had long realised that he was in a position to be killed, but he stopped caring, mostly thanks to the unnatural wrath inhibiting the more rational parts of his mind. He'd helped those fucking civilians by taking out those who hurt them! You don't alleviate the symptoms, you kill the infection!

Every adult was growing uncomfortable and restless.

"No wonder Voldemort came to power," Harry said. "The Ministry isn't exactly a great fucking institution."

"HARRY, THAT'S ENOUGH!" Arthur shouted and stormed over to him.

"GET BACK FROM HIM, ARTHUR! HE'S DANGEROUS!" Crouch shouted at the redheaded man, but Arthur didn't stop.

He used his wand to conjure up a blanket which he gingerly wrapped around Harry. Harry's rage subsided considerably at the gesture, and the force holding him up was dwindling. Arthur's hands felt comforting through the blanket, almost like Meerlinda's. Harry slowly wiped his blade off in the robes of the Death Eater next to him, and then sheathed it. He tried to stand, as weak as he felt. Despite the severity of his injuries, he stood up on his own.

"Tell me how you took sixty Stunning Spells without going down!" Crouch shouted at him. "No one can do that! Even dragons only take eight at most."

Arthur looked at Harry worriedly. Had he really taken **sixty** Stunners? Harry looked at Crouch, still with the ever–rebellious expression, but said nothing. He started limping in the direction of the Weasley tent, but another four Stunners struck him, and he stumbled forward. He gasped as he felt his spleen rupture just a little further, but he didn't fall.

"I just want to sleep," he said weakly. "Yes, I took six lives. But look around you."

Some of the officials did as he said, and saw dozens of civilians either dead or wounded.

"I may just have saved dozens more."

Harry limped slowly forward once again, but no one fired a spell at him this time. Bill and Charlie, both somewhat dirty and hurt themselves, came running, but stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the shape Harry was in.

"Harry!" Bill shouted as he ran up and grabbed hold of the boy, who was just about to pass out. Bill grabbed one arm, and Charlie came up and grabbed the other.

They both saw all the dirt and blood that caked Harry's face and clothes, and looked to their father. He nodded, and they dragged Harry back towards their tent while Arthur smoothed the situation out with the Ministry. It was then that the injuries he'd sustained from the sixty–four stunners caught up with him, as the rage that kept him awake faded, and he fell unconscious with it.

•••

Bill and Charlie dragged Harry into the tent, and all the other Weasleys and Hermione jumped to their feet when they noticed. What struck them first was Harry, bloody and dirty, hanging limply from the brothers' grips.

"HARRY!" Ginny exclaimed and ran towards them.

"Ginny, don't!" Charlie shouted.

Ginny stopped dead in her tracks, her face the very picture of worry and concern.

"He's stunned," Charlie said calmly when she stopped. "He's hurt, bad. Don't come near him."

He and his older brother then gingerly carried Harry over to the boys' section of the tent. Bill temporarily let go of Harry and made a makeshift bed of the pillows and duvets the tent was equipped with. Harry was then gently placed on the makeshift bed. Bill withdrew his wand and waved it over Harry, mumbling some quiet incantations. He frowned when he stopped.

"What?" Charlie asked nervously.

"He's recovering," Bill said with disbelief and suspicion. "His body is healing itself, right now. And quickly."

"What!?" Charlie asked and stared at Harry.

Sure enough, Harry had been pale as a sheet, but under the grime on his face, Charlie could make out his face gaining colour rather quickly.

"What in Merlin's beard is this!?" he whispered.

Bill looked suspiciously at Harry, then reached up and took his earring out of his ear.

"What are you–" Charlie asked, but quieted when he saw what Bill intended to do.

Bill placed his _silver_ earring on Harry's cheek, and they saw his skin instantly turning red, and it began sizzling, like oil on a frying pan. Harry's face scrunched a little, but he remained unconscious. When Bill removed his earring, it had left a small scar, almost like a burn.

"Oh my–" but Charlie couldn't finish the sentence.

"He's a werewolf," Bill said quietly to make sure the others didn't hear him.

"What should we do?" Charlie asked Bill in a whisper.

"What Mum and Dad taught us," Bill said calmly. "Treat him no differently than we already have. He's been nothing but kind and polite, Charlie. If we turn on him because of something he can't help, what does that say about us? Mum and Dad taught us to accept everyone as they are, not what they are."

"You're right," Charlie sighed. "Doesn't mean I like it, but you're right."

Just then, Arthur entered the tent, heaving from the running he did to get back.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"Over here, Dad," Bill called.

"Right," Arthur said. He turned to the others. "Children, stay back."

"Dad, what's going on!?" Ron asked. "Bill and Charlie drag Harry in here, and he's covered in dirt and blood, and not even conscious!"

"Some people from the Ministry cast him a stunner. He'll wake up, but for now, don't come near him."

Arthur then walked over to his eldest sons.

"How's he doing?" he asked in hushed tones.

"His liver, spleen and kidneys are practically dust, but they're already recovering, and quickly," Bill said, then pointed at the small burn mark on Harry's cheek. "But his skin burns when it touches silver."

"He's a werewolf!?" Arthur practically hissed, his voice sounding like a quiet shout. "No wonder he could take so many stunners!"

"What're you talking about, Dad?" Charlie asked. "Even dragons can't take more than ten stunners! How many did Harry take!?"

"Sixty–four, apparently," Arthur replied. "But I've talked with Lupin about werewolves once. He claims that when werewolves transform, it takes an absurd number of stunners to take them down. He said it's got something to do with their anger. When werewolves get angry, they become stronger, it would seem, and they are barely affected by any magic to deceive or shut down the mind. And Harry looked just about ready to lash out when I came there."

"But **sixty**!?" Bill muttered. "I don't think even a giant could **survive** that, let alone **keep walking**!"

"I don't know, boys," Arthur looked downcast. "We'll ask him when he wakes up."

"Well, let's go outside, then," they heard Harry's voice, and looked at him. "I'm wide awake now."

They were all practically _stunned_.

"How!?"

"Well, as you said," Harry argued and propped himself up on his elbows, "when a werewolf gets angry, he gets stronger. And he heals faster, too."

Harry stood up, then clutched his stomach for a second.

"Harry!" Arthur ejaculated, but Harry waved it off.

He walked out the tent and threw the other children an apologetic look.

"You coming?" he called to the three adults, who rushed out after him.

Harry walked over to the edge of the forest, which was rather close, then sat down. He grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it in his face.

"We wolves are creatures of the Earth," Harry began, making sure to use the dirt to rub all the dried blood off his face. "When we take our true shape, our Crinos form, we become practically unstoppable. But we can learn, given time and practice, to access our stronger powers even in our birth forms."

"But **sixty–four stunners**, Harry!"

"Well, sixty–four stunners was all it took. First you have to account for my physical fitness, which is far above that of any normal human's capability. Next there's the moon," he said and pointed at the moon. It was a full–moon. "When the moon is full, I'm at my strongest. Unlike the werewolves you know, I don't have to change on a full moon's night, but it certainly becomes easier. My wolf powers also become stronger. Honestly, if I transformed into my strongest for right now, I'd likely be able to throw a loaded fuel truck, or an elephant."

The older men looked at each other sceptically. But they sat down like him, and decided to listen.

"Now, sixty–four stunners. That was a tough one. But since it's the full moon, my defences and healing ability are both at their highest. My fur and muscles took most of the impact, and then my body started healing until the Ministry officials fired again."

"But you weren't transformed, you didn't have fur," Arthur interjected.

Harry reached down and pulled his shirt up to reveal that his stomach and chest had grown fur, and seemed far more muscular than it had before. Then, before their eyes, it pulled back, leaving an ordinary, if rather muscled, torso.

"Partial transformation is really hard. And the more precise the area of your transformation, the harder it is. Took me months to learn that trick. And manifesting fur without any other change is extremely difficult. I still have to transform the entire appendage I want to cover with fur."

"What's so special about your fur?" Charlie asked.

"Werewolf fur is surprisingly durable, and highly resistant to both tearing and magic. That's why it takes silver weapons to really hurt werewolves all that much. A regular knife couldn't get through most werewolves' fur. But silver burns right through. Speaking of which," he cringed as the small burn mark from the silver earring slowly faded, leaving nothing to indicate that he'd been touched by the accessory.

"You can heal silver that easily?" Bill asked suspiciously.

"Nothing easy about it, Bill," Harry said calmly. "I have to direct all my energy to heal it. Meaning my other injuries will stay as long as I do."

"Oh. Right. How's your injuries?"

"Ruptured spleen, liver and smashed kidneys," Harry said casually. "Kidneys are back, the liver's whole and the spleen will be fine in another few minutes. Wolves are said to be extremely hard to kill for good reason."

Harry reached behind his back and pulled out his silver–bladed bayonet. He then dropped it, with the tip landing in the dirt.

"That's why I always carry that around."

He then reached inside his jacket, under his left arm, and retrieved his SIG pistol. He cocked the slide and caught the bullet that flew out of the ejector mid–air. He held it out to show them the silver jacket on the lead core, some minute amount of his skin turning slightly red as it lay there.

"And this."

He released the magazine, put the bullet back into place, slammed the magazine back into the pistol and holstered it. He then grabbed his blade, wiped it off, and put it back into its own holster.

"So you're a werewolf–hunting werewolf?" Charlie asked, confused.

"Not by any stretch of the imagination," Harry chuckled. "I just like being prepared for anything. Besides, the knife and gun can be used against anything that can be shot or stabbed. Silver just adds that little extra benefit."

They were all silent for a while.

"Harry, you killed men tonight," Arthur said gravely. "Do you realise what you've done?"

"Of course I do, Mr Weasley," Harry answered calmly. "Not the first time I've taken out trash."

"They weren't trash, Harry! They were people!"

"They were scum. The world is better off without them. Look at what they did tonight alone," Harry said and gestured out towards the veritable sea of tents, a good portion of which were burnt down. Corpses were plenty, as were people tending to the wounded. "I'm going to kill Voldemort someday," Harry said stoically, "rid the world of another tyrant, and get my sweet revenge, while I'm at it. When I do, I'm leaving the wizarding world to its own. I don't want to be part of it any more than I have to."

"Harry, revenge isn't going to lead to anything good!" Arthur pleaded.

"Aren't you listening to what I'm saying, Mr Weasley?" Harry asked. "I'm not interested in being a good person. I'm interested in brutally slaughtering someone who euthanised my parents. I'm not going to turn into Voldemort, I have no intention of ruling anything. But I'm not sticking around after he's dead and gone, for good this time."

As much as Arthur hated it, he realised that he would never be able to change Harry's mind. He needed to accept that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was a remorseless killer.

"I want you to stay away from my children," Arthur said seriously. "If you are going down the dark path, you are not dragging my family with you. Once we return to Ottery St Catchpole, you go home, and you don't talk to my children, you don't look at them, you don't go anywhere near them except pass them by in the common room, hallways and classrooms. If they try to initiate conversation, you walk away without a word. Is that understood?"

Bill and Charlie both looked at Arthur with wide eyes. They both understood where it was coming from, but Harry had only been nice to them. Then they looked at Harry. His face and eyes revealed only a fraction of regret until it hardened into stone.

"Fair enough, on the condition that you'll tell your children your decision, and why you chose it."

Arthur nodded, and Harry did as well.

"It's settled, then," Harry said. "I'll respect your wish, but in that case, I'm leaving now."

Harry stood up and walked back towards the tent. The older men followed him. Once he entered the tent, he made the extra effort not to interact with the Weasley children. He grabbed his things, stuffed them in his backpack without a word. He then walked to the opening of the tent, but stopped. He looked back at Hermione.

"See you at Hogwarts," he said to her with a small smile, then headed out into the night.

_He can't tell me not to talk to Hermione._

Arthur looked out after him until he was gone from sight.

"What the bloody hell is up with him, that git!" Ron exclaimed. "I thought we were gonna start over!"

"It wasn't Harry's choice to ignore you," Arthur said solemnly. He could no longer hold back the sorrow that welled up in him when he heard Harry speak. "I told him to never speak with our family again."

The children all looked at him with varying degrees of shock.

"Come sit," Arthur said and gestured to the large dinner table with chairs for all of them. "There's much I need to tell you."

They all sat down, and despite Arthur's reprehension towards Harry, he still missed the presence of the only missing person from the table.

"Harry Potter isn't who, or even _what_, we all thought he was."

Beginning of a New Chapter

Ron was sitting in the compartment along with his siblings and Hermione, all of whom were in a sour mood. Harry had passed the compartment when he'd looked for a place to sit, and despite all the Weasleys begging him to sit with them, he only looked at Hermione and greeted her. Though, it had put the Weasleys at ease when Harry had asked Hermione to pass a greeting to them. They understood he was only doing as their father had asked him, but they were relieved that he cared enough about them to indirectly greet them when he saw them.

"Well, you've got to give him credit," George commented. "He knows how to exploit loopholes."

"And for being a werewolf, he seems so calm and at peace with it," Fred added. "I mean, he **can** control his transformations, but still! Having a monster inside you! He's a cold fish!"

"I think he just has far more strength of will than most other people," Ginny commented as well. "He runs for hours without stopping, even when he looks like he's ready to drop any second. And when he does his strength exercises!? He kicks and hits the big oak tree hard enough to rustle it, and he doesn't flinch!"

"He's really incredible though, isn't he?" Ron asked no one in particular. "Think about everything he must have gone through to become like that. I mean, according to Dad, he supposedly carries weapons with him everywhere. I can't even begin to imagine what someone must have been through to become so paranoid of dangers everywhere."

That quieted everyone in the compartment, because they all realised he had a point. To never feel safe without a weapon… something really bad must have happened. Hermione turned her eyes back to her copy of the Daily Prophet, and her eyes bulged. She quickly flipped through the pages and landed on a specific one. She felt like she had been stabbed in the gut.

"What is it, Hermione?" Ron asked and took the newspaper out of her hand.

After a few seconds of reading, his smirk dropped and he started becoming pale.

_SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!_

_Last Monday, on August 18th, a group of masked men convened and started attacking civilians at the 442nd Quidditch World Cup, held in Dartmoor, England, between Ireland and Bulgaria. These men were dressed in a manner similar to You Know Who's Death Eaters during the Wizarding War, and started attacking muggles and muggleborn wizards and witches. Civilian casualties have been confirmed to be 19, with dozens more injured._

_The corpses of some of them were discovered, along with a dirty and bloody fourteen–year–old boy. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was found with a bloodied knife in his hands by Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, along with a few aurors and members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. According to an anonymous source, Potter proudly confessed to have slaughtered the copy–cat Death Eaters by partial decapitation, evisceration and stabbing. Our source also claims that he mocked, belittled and aggravated Mr Crouch by stating that he had snuck into the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. Our source believes the last to be merely a jab at the senior ministry official, and should be disregarded._

_When authorities tried to arrest Potter by stunning him, our source describes, he took three blasts of twenty stunners. It is clear in the mind of our source that Harry Potter is clearly a dark creature of some kind, but exactly what, our source can't confirm._

Ron couldn't keep reading, and put the newspaper down.

"Merlin's beard…"

•••

Harry stalked through the train, watchful for an empty compartment. People stared at him like he was a monster. They had likely read the Daily Prophet.

_At least they won't bother me._

He reached an empty compartment, save for a couple of youngsters, likely new first–years. Harry went in .

"Any of you mind me sitting in here?" he asked with a smile.

"Not at all!" one of the small girls said, and padded the empty seat next to her.

"Thanks a bunch," Harry said, placed his trunk on the hanger overhead, and then said down. "So what's your name, then?"

"I'm Molly Strasbury, and this' my sister, Jackie!" Molly pointed at the girl sitting on the other side of her. "This' gonna be our first year!"

"I'm Kristian," the small boy across from Molly said, "their older step–brother, and a proud second–year Gryffindor. You can call me Kris."

"I'm Benjamin, his Slytherin twin," said the boy next to Kristian, who really did look exactly like him, "and you can call me Ben."

"Gryffindor and Slytherin?" Harry asked with a smile. "Rare sight to see them together.

"We know," they said in unison.

"But, you know, there's something most Gryffindors and Slytherins don't know," Harry said mirthfully.

"What's that?" Kristian asked curiously.

"Godric and Salazar were best friends," Harry said and winked. "About as close as brothers."

Kristian and Benjamin smiled at each other and bumped fists.

•••

The ride was spent making small talk, as was the carriage ride with the boys. Their younger step–sisters had to take the boats. Harry and Kris made their way to the Gryffindor table after departing with Ben. Everyone older than twelve or thirteen seemed to have read the Daily Prophet, or at least heard of the story about him.

_And just like that, my practically spotless reputation is ruined._

Harry would deal with it later. For now, he would enjoy his last night of being just a face in a crowd used to having around THE Harry Potter. Oh, he had relished in the anonymity he had built up over the last part of the previous year. Now, 'twas gone. Sadly. Ginny came over and sat next to Harry, and stared at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes, or look at her, but the corner of his mouth did rise in a smirk.

"It's rude to stare like that," Kris told Ginny as he leant in over the table to address her.

"She knows," Harry replied on her behalf. "Our parents got into a disagreement, so I can't talk to her now."

"Oh, okay," Kris said and turned to look back at the first years rolling in for their sorting, but his face turned into a frown and looked suspiciously back at Harry. "You're Harry Potter."

"Yes?"

"Your parents 're dead."

"Got me," Harry chuckled quietly as he padded Kris on the shoulder. "You've got a good head. Use it."

Kris couldn't help a grin, and turned back to the sorting ceremony. Harry kept ignoring Ginny, even when she started poking his face with her index finger repeatedly. Harry wanted to laugh, but he thought it'd be better if he didn't.

•••

Halfway through the feast (Molly and Jackie had both been placed in Hufflepuff, home of the loyal, honest, hardworking and patient), a man known as Alastor Moody was introduced as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry knew who the man was. Ex–Auror, considered the best of his time, a seasoned war–veteran, and descended from a long, reputable pure–blood lineage of Aurors. Harry felt an immense respect for the man, seeing as how they were at least nominally similar, it would seem.

Dumbledore had also explained to the school that Quidditch wouldn't be held that year, seeing as the Tri–Wizard Tournament would be held at Hogwarts instead. The wizarding schools Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would come to Hogwarts to participate. Harry already knew it, from a report from one of Meerlinda's spies in the Ministry. He had been introduced to the spy during the summer so that he would know who it was, and that the spy would know that reporting to Harry was acceptable, and even required.

As soon as the feast was finished, Harry stood up and marched outside of the castle. Ginny looked after him worriedly, but followed the prefect upstairs so she could go to bed. Harry walked around the lake, clearing his mind and collecting his thoughts.

_I'm suspected to be a dark creature. No clue as to which one. Clearly, I would be stamped as a 'Being' since I have human intelligence and knowledge of society and social traditions and norms. I have to reach out to Remus, try to learn more about the Ministry's stand on different creatures. I recall there being a rating of some sort, measuring the lethality or danger of a given creature. If the Ministry apprehends me… should I run? That'll make me look guilty of some crime, but I can't let them discover my more dangerous qualities. Such a pain…_

Harry returned to the castle and went to the common room. He listened carefully for chatter inside.

"… you know why the new password is 'Balderdash'?"

Harry smirked and looked at the Fat Lady.

"Balderdash."

"Lucky," she said, and swung aside.

Harry entered, and as he did, everything went quiet. People stared at him with fear and apprehension. Even Kris from the train. Harry was stone-faced as he crossed the common room, and people scurried out of his way. He went up the stairs to the third–year boys' dorm, and entered. Everyone in there was quiet as well, Seamus Finnigan looking much quieter than his usually boisterous self, and Neville seemed much quieter than he usually was. Harry accepted that he was now well and truly alone, once again. He knew Ron sent him saddened glances, but he ignored it and went to bed.

•••

The first while at Hogwarts was uneventful. No one wanted to have anything to do with him, except Hermione, but between him and the Weasleys, he didn't see her very often. Their new teacher, Moody, had taught them about the Unforgivable Curses, and Harry realised that it was the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra, which had killed his parents. Moody had even explicitly said so, saying that only one person had ever survived it, and that that person sat in the corner of the room. Which was exactly where Harry had seated himself. He also noticed that Moody's odd eye seemed to have the ability to see through solid objects.

Then came late October, and a notice detailing the arrival of the other schools was posted on noticeboards around the school. They would arrive on October 30th, and the participants would be announced October 31st.

Which led to October 30th, with Harry sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, by himself. There was at least two metres to the nearest student, a fifth–year girl who seemed to be uncomfortable sitting so close to him. Harry recognised her as Katie Bell, from the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She kept sending nervous glances his way, but he merely sat slouched, leant over the table, and his chin resting in the palm of his hand. He was getting tired of waiting to go outside to greet the other schools. He just wanted to go back to the library and read up on the Ministry's history of creature classifications, as well as reading about various dark creatures. He was trying to pick one to use as his cover in case he was ever asked under some sort of truth spell or potion, like Veritaserum. He had found a recipe for an antidote, which he now kept in a small vial tied on a leather string under his shirt. Only four or five drops, which should be enough to make him immune to Veritaserum for ten to thirty minutes, or negate its effects once ingested. It had been very difficult to find and brew, but it had paid off in Harry's mind.

Soon, the students were ordered out and to stand in their respective houses and years. Harry stood a distance away from everyone else, leant up against a tree. He noticed professor McGonagall march towards him.

"Is something wrong, Potter?" she asked sternly, but Harry detected the concern for him she held. She was his teacher and Head of House, after all.

"Ever since the article posted in the Daily Prophet in mid–August, everyone's wanted to be as far from me as possible," he shrugged and looked towards the sky. "I'd rather not make them any more uncomfortable than absolutely required."

McGonagall nodded gravely.

"I read it. Is it…"

"True? Yeah, it is. But my immediate concern wasn't taking lives. It was saving them."

McGonagall nodded again, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, a much warmer gesture than most students received from her.

"That is why I think you're still a good person, Harry," she said, uncharacteristically warm, with a far more uncharacteristic smile. "As long as it is for the good of those who can't protect themselves, I will never fear what you do."

Harry smiled weakly, and nodded. With that, McGonagall walked away to join the other teachers, who were standing gathered behind Dumbledore. She whispered something in the headmaster's ear, and he looked at Harry. He then winked, and Harry returned it with a smirk.

Soon, the large horse drawn carriage of the Beauxbatons Academy came soaring through the sky, and landed on the ground. In Harry's mind, the students seemed pathetic and weak. They trembled and shivered, wearing mostly silk. One of them, though, caught Harry's eye, and, he noticed, the eye of every other boy there. A woman, hair like flowing silver, yet still vaguely blond, and eyes as blue as the noon sky. Harry felt his heart start beating quicker and quicker, and soon, to his despair, he felt something else.

He was becoming aroused, and the wolf inside him slammed roughly against the cage he locked it in, trying desperately to get out and jump her. Harry wasn't 'pitching a tent', as it were, but he felt the hand he held inside his cloak itch and ache, as his fingers elongated and grew hair and claws. He felt his anger rise to the surface, and his vision was slowly bleeding red at the edges. His gums were starting to ache as well, and he could feel his eyes turning yellow. Harry then felt a burning pain in his chest and gut.

_**LET ME OUT! LET ME POUNCE HER, LET ME–**_

_NO! STAY! YOU WILL NEVER GET OUT UNLESS I SAY SO!_

It was the Beast, the horrible, predatory instincts of the vampire, enhanced only by his innate Rage as a werewolf. It didn't have an actual voice in his head; that was a mental affliction brought on by his subconscious over the course of the years since he became what he was, making Harry more easily distracted. Harry grimaced at the pain, and started walking back towards the castle. Everyone looked after him as he did, and when he passed Dumbledore, the old wizard saw the yellow, predatory eyes of Harry's less accepted form. He nodded seriously, and Harry started running. Once he entered the castle, his hold on his instincts weakened, and his right leg cramped up as it shifted, bones and muscle painfully rearranging themselves to fit the form of the Crinos. Normally, his transformations were smooth, quick, and painless. But after the voice had started making him transform, they had become excruciatingly painful when he tried to resist them.

Harry kept limping on his one good leg as his left arm turned as well, tearing the sleeve of his uniform. He roared in pain and kept limping. He made it to the seventh floor, but instead of going to the Gryffindor Tower, he headed the other way. Towards the Room of Requirement. Harry fell to the floor, hitting his head roughly against the stone as he did so, and his vision went blurry. His other leg started transforming as well. Using one good arm remaining, he dragged himself the rest of the distance to the Room, which manifested a door for him. He threw himself up to open the door, and fell inside. The door slammed after him, and the door vanished, both inside and outside. He needed to be unable to leave the room until he could control himself again.

Inside was pitch black, and no one would ever hear the agonised screams and roars, which soon turned into howls and real, _werewolf_ roars.

•••

He had burnt the torn clothes, and as the darkness of the Room of Requirement was incredibly deep, and nothing could be heard or smelt in there, his instincts had quickly died down again. The room had brightened after he was back in human form, and provided him with a shower. He had summoned a new uniform from his dorm, and joined the feast half an hour later, showered and dressed in new clothes.

People were looking at him strangely, and with extreme fear, but he ignored them. They likely thought he was losing control of his bloodlust or something, which was only partially true. But that woman… she must have been special. She definitely wasn't completely human. He closed his eyes and mentally browsed some of the books on creatures he had read. He remembered the entry on Veelas.

_Damn it. I need to test it, see if I can control it._

Harry carefully lifted his head slightly over the masses of heads and scouted cautiously for the Beauxbatons girl. He saw her, seated at the Ravenclaw table. She turned her head to talk to someone sitting beside her, and Harry clearly saw her face. He definitely felt the inner beast stir, but nothing remotely uncontrollable. This time. But Harry had to admit, she was absolutely gorgeous. He sat back down normally and ate... a lot. Transformations always took a lot out of him, and increased his appetite for a while after, as well as his libido. It was one of the things he hated most about assuming the form of the Crinos, the warform of the Garou, werewolves as he knew them.

Once the feast was done, Dumbledore revealed the Goblet of Fire, Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, made an appearance as he would be one of the judges, as well as having been one of the revivors of the tournament, along with Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Dumbledore then explained of the rule about students having to be seventeen years of age to be able to participate. He then quickly sent the student body to bed. Harry did manage to catch a glimpse of a half–giant woman named Olympe Maxime, the headmistress of _Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons_, or 'Beauxbatons Academy of Magic', and Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute and former Death Eater. Harry did feel his blood boil a little when he saw the man, though the report had made him anticipate that. It was no less infuriating to see the man sitting there so casually, drinking wine and eating a fine meal.

_He should be six feet underground._

Harry pushed down the venomous thoughts of torture he would like to expose Karkaroff to, hoping that he would have the chance to live them out at some point. When the students were sent to bed, Harry caught Dumbledore throw a glance to the outside, then back at Harry, who understood the message. Harry walked outside and waited in the shadow under the roof of the courtyard outside. Dumbledore joined him after the Beauxbatons _flock_ Durmstrang _pack_ had passed by, none of them seeing Harry, obscured by the darkness. Harry let the wolf shine yellow through his eyes, and Dumbledore calmly approached the young man.

"What happened, Harry?" he asked calmly.

"I lost control, Headmaster," he admitted.

"How?"

"That Beauxbatons girl, the one that's part Veela. I–" he began, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"You lost control because of her charm? Your… lust for her?"

"Yes. It won't happen again. I spent the feast ascertaining just how much she affects me. It was just very sudden before. It won't happen again, Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked out into the night thoughtfully.

"Had you merely been human, I would have told you that it's natural for a young boy of your age," the elderly began. "But for you, it's too dangerous to lose control. I read the issue of the Daily Prophet with your… article in it. I can't have an article about that happening here. It would ruin the school."

"And it's not just because you want to stay headmaster?" Harry jabbed jokingly.

"I would be fine with being resigned as headmaster, so long as a suitable candidate took my stead," Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "But Hogwarts, despite its glowing reputation, has a bloody past. Too many students have died here, and I wonder if allowing a werewolf who loses control would make the Board of Directors decide to close the school for good. They came close to that decision two years ago, when the basilisk was petrifying students. I was suspended during that time, and I would have been fine if they fired me, if they would allow me to return to help find and kill the serpent."

Harry listened to Dumbledore, not only his words, but his heartbeat as well. Not a single irregularity in rhythm which would reveal him to be lying, merely nervousness when he had mentioned losing control over the part–Veela. Harry smiled.

"I've never met a man as honest and great as you," Harry admitted. "And I don't think I ever will once you're gone."

Dumbledore frowned.

"You're nearing the winter years of your life," Harry stated with a shrug. "It might be another fifty, or even hundred years, but one day, you'll pass on, and leave the school behind. And I doubt it will ever have a headmaster as devoted to it as you are."

Dumbledore smiled and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder as the elderly man guided Harry inside.

"I appreciate your honesty, and flattery, Harry. I hope to at least be there to watch you grow into a splendid man, whatever road you choose. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person, who has been fostered in a bad situation. You may carry on killing and hurting people for the rest of your life, but I doubt you will ever harm an innocent person. At least, not if you can help it. And that is why I will never see you as evil. You are no Voldemort waiting to happen. You feel friendship, you feel love, you can empathise, Harry. All traits Voldemort could never imagine possessing."

Harry didn't respond to that. The pair walked up to the floor where Dumbledore's office was, and then parted. Harry went back to his dorm, only to find the same as usual; no one daring to look directly at him, or stand in his way.

The Tournament Begins

Harry woke up early, at least around three in the morning, and put on his exercise clothes: a pair of sneakers, a pair of jogging pants, and a black, tight–fitted undershirt. He then went downstairs and out into the fresh morning air of Scotland in October 31st. The results of the Goblet of Fire were to be revealed that evening, and Harry had been having bad premonitions about it. He had seen a scorched piece of paper with his name on it. A blue flame and haunting, ghostly wails had marred his dreams, and woken him up.

When Harry came outside, he saw that a few of the Durmstrang boys were out running around the lake, like he had been intending to do. He sighed and began his stretches. He was soon running himself, and he soon caught up with the Durmstrang boys, before passing them. Some of them seemed extremely impressed that he practically sprinted past them, around the lake, and past them one more time before some of them stopped and headed back to their ship. Harry kept running and running. Soon, the morning sun climbed over the horizon, and Harry checked his watch, which read that it was almost seven. He kept running, even as Durmstrang boys (and strangely a single girl) and Beauxbatons students (which were, also strangely, nearly female exclusive, save for around five boys) left their ship and carriage to have breakfast in the great hall. In particular, Harry noticed the girl who had caused him to rage and transform staring at him with some measure of interest as he passed by. She smirked a little, apparently liking what she saw.

Indeed, Harry supposed that he was rather attractive. Whilst he had been away for his first year at Hogwarts, Meerlinda told him, she had found the mage who had dilated time, and had him turn it down even more. Harry asked why, when he returned. Apparently, the ritual which had caused him to gain vampiric and lycanthropic qualities had also bestowed him with the side–effect of the slow aging of ghouls, brought to an extreme. She took a picture of him with a camera she had bought a few years prior to photograph him like other parents did. It had been a completely misguided effort, as both she and Harry had come to terms with, but she had showed him a picture of him from 1989. And he had looked identical to himself in 1993, before he left for Hogwarts, and then from 1993 to when he returned in 1994. He had aged slower than what he should have. So, the summer had been more akin to fifteen years to him, and the dilation had been off again. He seemed more like sixteen years old now, rather than fourteen. It was a problem, a real problem.

He was also pretty confused that none of the Weasleys or Hermione had pointed it out to him before. He'd even grown a beard stubble.

_So, in summary; I look almost legal, I'm pretty good–looking, and I've got muscles like a Greek god. Why does humanity have to be so damn difficult and fickle?_

As he reached the old tree, the one with entirely flat bark at his chest height, he began his kicking and punching routine again. Almost an hour went by as he punched, kicked, got down to do push–ups, crunches and squats, then followed by punching again. He was becoming incredibly sore, the lactic acid in his bloodstream making it really difficult to keep at it. The other schools' students came back out, and were astonished by him. Some of them gathered a distance away and merely stared at him. After almost ten minutes of it, Harry lost his cool.

"WHAT!?" he turned and shouted, sweating, heaving and panting, knuckles bloodied and his shins and feet feeling utterly blasted. "YOU ENTERTAINED!?"

His eyes were wild, and then he saw **her** standing in the front of the crowd, her face somewhat confused and scared. And then Harry realized how he must look, a look which could be surmised with one term: wife–beater. Harry – eyes wild, breathing laboured, sweat pouring down his face and arms, soaking his shirt, and knuckles bruised and bloody – knew he looked like a psychopath to them. He closed his eyes took deep breaths as some of the students gathered hurried off, though a number still remained, including the girl who had made him transform. Once he had calmed down and his breathing was normal, he looked back at the remaining students.

"Sorry. Welcome to Hogwarts," he said before he started walking back towards the castle.

"Wait," one called with a **very** French accent.

He stopped and turned to see the girl.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Harry Potter," he said calmly. "You?"

"Fleur Delacour," she replied, and Harry caught her eyes flitting to his chest, arms, and definitely his crotch, before meeting his eyes again.

"Charmé," Harry said, internally smirking at the joke.

He then headed back towards the castle, leaving Fleur with a slightly impressed facial expression; he had pronounced it just like a Frenchman would.

•••

Harry came down to the Hallowe'en feast, eager to get something to eat. He saw the girl, Fleur, glance at him before she sat down at the Ravenclaw table. And throughout the feast, she kept sending him glances. Harry ate a lot very quickly, but due to his lessons in etiquette, never spilled or seemed rude as he ate. Just very, very quickly. The Beast had raged within him all day, and he hadn't dared leave the Room of Requirement until it was evening. He had been inside, letting out his anger and sexual frustrations through violence on chairs, desks and bookshelves conjured by the room. Punched, kicked, bitten, scratched. He had destroyed them in every fashion possible. He realised that he had kept a tight leash on his Beast and Rage for what was essentially around ten to fifteen years. He just had to let it rage for a few hours, and indeed, after he had spent seven hours in there, he felt completely calm and composed, and even felt practically no tug at his Beast when he saw Fleur that evening, though he still felt tugs at his hormones and male sexuality coming to the forefront of his mind. He was still, after all, a teenage werewolf with powerful instincts and urges. He decided to let his Beast rage in the Room of Requirement every weekend from then on.

Once the feast was over, Harry felt stuffed and satisfied. He caught Fleur look at him with a measure of… something. It seemed like a mixture of being disgusted (likely by the amount of food), confused (as to how there was space for it), impressed (that it could happen) and… something fourth he couldn't place a finger on.

_I would say hungry, but that isn't quite… oh._

He turned his focus back to Dumbledore and the Goblet. Dumbledore took the stage and spoke to the crowd.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicated the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. A few people kept checking their watches.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Harry watched the girl gracefully get to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. She sent him a small wink, and a few of the boys from his table, sitting a distance away from him, looked at him like he was a crazy psychopath. Which in fairness, in contrast to the well–adjusted mind, he almost certainly was. Harry looked at the Ravenclaw table, looking at the Beauxbatons students' reactions. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion was next. And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out —

"Harry Potter."

Every eye turned to the so–named boy, who was staring at Dumbledore with an expression saying 'you have got to be fucking shitting me, or I will shoot someone'. Truly, his head was one filled with words of wisdom. Giving in, he sighed deeply, and got up in a manner which seemed to suggest he really did not want to bother with it. As he passed the wooden goblet on the wooden box, he stopped and stared at it. He was seriously considering kicking it, hoping it would spit out a letter of apology for making such a gigantic screw–up, and stating the withdrawal of his participance. He left it, as he would rather not have to deal with Crouch trying to curse him for assaulting an ancient, magical artefact. He kept moving and walked past Dumbledore.

"I didn't put my name in it, Headmaster," Harry muttered, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Just go down, we will be there in but a few moments."

Harry nodded, and walked down the stairs to the trophy room. He didn't feel particularly angry. More like 'heavily irritated', with a dash of 'don't wanna deal with this shit'. He entered the room, and saw the other champions, Fleur, Krum and Cedric, standing by the fire as a group. Harry walked over to a chair and sat down, leant back, and sighed heavily. He then placed his hands on his face and started rubbing it. Cedric was the first to see him.

"They want us back in the hall?" he asked somewhat innocently.

"Nope, quite the contrary," Harry said with a somewhat sarcastic tone, even if he truly meant it. "Goblet fucked up."

"How?"

"I'm the fourth champion. Just my fucking luck."

The other three were all astonished.

"But… zere's only supposed to be zree," Fleur said suspiciously, her eyes roaming Harry.

"I knoooow," Harry drew out the word, "and I hate it."

"You don't vant to participate?" Krum asked, suspicious as well.

"No thanks, I'd prefer not to expend more energy than I have to. I don't have any extracurricular activities, and I like it that way."

"You sure seem to like running," Fleur countered throatily.

"Because I have a weak heart," Harry lied through his teeth. "If I don't exercise, it'll eventually weaken so much that it'll stop working altogether, and I'll die a slow, painful death. So, I'd rather jog than play Quidditch or chess, thank you very much."

All three of them seemed shocked by the fake story, particularly Fleur.

"I'm lying," he finally stated. "I like running, and I want more time to keep running."

Out of all of them, Cedric seemed the most relieved, though. He was a Hufflepuff through and through, that one.

"Christ, you're bad at spotting lies," Harry muttered and closed his eyes as he kicked the chair back so that he leant against the wall.

"Why would you lie, anyway?" Cedric asked.

"To conceal the truth," Harry deadpanned. "You know, the very definition of lying? And because I'm a human who has ambitions in the world. And honesty doesn't get you far in politics."

"Everyone should be honest," Cedric countered, slightly offended. "And politicians are honest."

"If you believe that, you're as much a fool as people think you're a genius," Harry said calmly. "Every politician has lied at one point or another, and people lie every day. Practically every 'civilised' society is based and built on lies. You'll get nowhere with your naivety."

"Harry, that's enough," Dumbledore calmly said.

"Right."

Dumbledore was followed by the other headmasters, Bagman, Crouch, Snape, McGonagall and Moody. They made their way into the trophy room, and the headmasters and champions of the other schools paired up and stood a small distance away from the rest of the posse.

"Extraordinary!" Bagman muttered. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the _fourth_ Triwizard champion?"

"I already told them," Harry commented. "So sorry I spoiled your dramatic entrance, Bagman."

"Harry, would please just be polite?" Dumbledore asked courteously.

Harry looked at his mentor for a few seconds, then let the chair fall to all four legs and stood up straight. Dumbledore nodded, and gestured for Bagman to continue.

"Of course," he said, a little put off by Harry's attitude, "this is quite a unique situation. This should not have happened, but it did! Frankly, I'm a little excited."

"I'm not," Harry said. "Get me out of this 'unique situation,' now."

"Harry."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, there's no way to rescind a participation slip. Once you've thrown it in, there's no backing out."

Harry looked at Dumbledore.

"May I speak?"

"Be my guest."

He then turned to Bagman.

"But I didn't put my name in. I haven't been anywhere near the goblet, and I'm only fourteen," everyone in the room except the Hogwarts professors frowned strongly. "Will my participation be annulled if I break the goblet?"

"Harry!" Dumbledore exclaimed.

"I'm, sorry," Harry exclaimed loudly, making very clear pauses between certain words, "but I really, don't, want, to be in this, stupid, tournament! Will I be excluded if I break the goblet!?"

"No, you won't," Crouch sternly said. "And you will not break the goblet. I will have you sent to Azkaban if you even dare try."

Eyes were turned to the elderly man suggesting sending a fourteen–year–old to Azkaban prison.

"I still haven't forgiven you for the World Cup," he said firmly, eyes boring into Harry's, "and you've made a fool of the Ministry, which was all over the news. A whole team has been established in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to decide what your crime was and how to punish you for it, and no one can reach a consensus, since you're fourteen years old!"

"What is zis about ze World Cup?" Maxime interjected.

"This 'boy' killed five grown men singlehandedly in cold blood," Crouch said, his eyes never leaving said boy as he withdrew a newspaper and threw it at Maxime's feet.

Fleur picked it up first and read the page it was folded to, and gasped with wide eyes as she read it. She then handed it to Maxime, who grew pale after she had read it.

"What is this nonsense," Karkaroff said, and walked over to look at the paper. "Surely it can't be…" but he had to eat his words as he saw the picture of the boy, surrounded by corpses, handling a bloodied knife and covered in blood and dirt.

Harry's face grew cold and sullen, his eyes dead and apathetic.

"And so what if I did?" he countered. "I fixed a bad situation."

"Killing them was not the right measure to take!" Crouch exclaimed.

"I don't treat the symptoms of a disease, Mr Crouch!" Harry exclaimed just as loudly. "I eliminate the disease! That you feigned remorse and guilt, and withdrew the law you had passed to allow the Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters during the first war in order to become minister was the wrong move! If you hadn't, then maybe there wouldn't have been an incident at the World Cup!"

"Those weren't Death Eaters, they we–"

"YES, THEY WERE!" Harry shouted, and then stormed over to Karkaroff. He violently grabbed the man's left arm and pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark etched into his skin there. "TWO OF THEM BORE THIS MARK!"

Harry was pushed away by Karkaroff.

"YOU LET HIM GO!" Harry screamed and pointed at Karkaroff. "ALL FOR THE UNIMPORTANT NOBODIES ON THE LOWEST PART OF THE FOOD CHAIN!"

Harry stormed over to Crouch and stared him right into his eyes.

"AND IF YOU HAD BEEN BETTER AT YOUR JOB, MY PARENTS MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE!"

With that, Harry roughly shoved the older man, who stumbled and fell to the floor.

"HARRY!" Dumbledore called, but Harry was too far gone.

"JAMES AND LILY POTTER MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE IF YOU HAD BEEN BETTER AT YOUR JOB! VOLDEMORT MIGHT HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN FOR GOOD! YOU MIGHT HAVE SPARED ME THREE HUNDRED YEARS OF TRAINING, PREPARING, DESENSITISING MYSELF TO MURDER, THAT I MAY ONE DAY GET REVENGE! I BECAME A FUCKING MONSTER, BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T KEEP YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER!"

No one in the room dared talk back, as Harry's eyes glowed yellow, his hands had become claws, and he was huffing and puffing and spitting as he shouted.

"I AM THIS BEAST, BECAUSE OF YOU! BECAUSE OF YOUR INCOMPETENCE! AND YOU FUCKING DARE BLAME ME FOR DOING WHAT I'VE SPENT MY ENTIRE LIFE TRAINING TO DO: KILL VOLDEMORT AND THOSE WHO SUPPORT HIM! I WILL DESTROY THE DEATH EATERS, AND I WILL DESTROY VOLDEMORT! AND IF YOU DARE TRY AND GET IN MY WAY AGAIN, I WILL NOT HESITATE TO RIP OUT YOUR THROAT WITH MY TEETH, BECAUSE I HAVE DONE FAR WORSE TO FAR BETTER PEOPLE!"

Harry was heaving and sweating profusely. His hands slowly reverted to normal, and his eyes stopped glowing.

"Don't keep me from my goal, old man," he said wearily, his partial transformation and nigh–frenzied rage draining him of energy. "If you do… I will show you things worse than death, as I will your son."

Crouch's eyes widened, as did Dumbledore's and Bagman's. Harry noticed Moody flinch.

"What?" Crouch breathed out.

"You broke out your son of Azkaban, didn't you?" Harry asked, still short of breath. "Your wife was devastated by you sending your son to prison, wasn't she? She was near–death, stricken with grief, so you gave her Polyjuice potion to look like your son, and then snuck your son out in her disguise, didn't you?"

"What?"

"It's a well–known fact that dementors can't see," Harry explained. "You just had to fool the guards at the entrance, and since your son left in approximately the same condition your wife entered in… it would make sense. Where is he, Bartemius? Where is Bartemius Crouch Junior? Because if you cross me again," Harry's breathing calmed down, his eyes started glowing again, and his face became as cold as ice as he squatted down next to the old man, "I will find him, and I will show him his insides before your very eyes."

No one dared say anything. Harry turned towards the door, but Snape blocked his way with his arm.

"I'm in a spectacularly foul mood, professor," Harry said coldly. "I will break your arm to get through."

"Severus," Dumbledore said weakly.

Snape looked at Dumbledore suspiciously, then lowered his arm.

"Harry, go to my office. I will be there as soon as I am through here."

Harry didn't give any sign that he had heard it, but Dumbledore knew he had, and that he would do as told. Once Harry had left, he turned to the gathering.

"I apologise on Harry's behalf…" Dumbledore said, but quieted. "And, on my own."

He drew his wand.

"I am sorry, but none of you may leave this room until you have had your memories modified."

McGonagall, Snape, and Moody also drew theirs. None of them liked the situation, but they realised Albus must have had extremely good reasons for such extreme measures. They all raised their wands on their guests.

"Obliviate."

•••

Harry was sitting in the lone chair in front of the headmaster's desk, with Fawkes the phoenix sitting on his shoulder. Dumbledore had been giving Harry irregular lessons during the previous year, where Dumbledore explained to Harry everything about the Wizarding War, the war with Grindelwald, about Voldemort. About practically everything of note to the current situation. Fawkes had taken a liking to him, and now, Fawkes was sitting on his arm, which rested on the armrest, singing a phoenix's song. Harry was amazed by how deeply the song touched him, and couldn't help the thick tears streaming down his face as he smiled sadly at the beautiful bird. He then gently stroked the bird's head, eliciting a small, joyous sound, which made Harry utter a noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. Fawkes was such a gentle companion, and seemed to truly understand Harry's emotions, even as he shouldn't be able to understand what the near–human said.

The door to the office opened softly, and the Hogwarts professors from the trophy room entered. Harry didn't move, and his eyes didn't leave Fawkes.

"Their memories have been obliviated, and replaced," Dumbledore said as he walked over and sat in his chair. "They don't remember anything other than a good explanation for what happened."

Harry didn't respond.

"Harry, this is the second time in as many days as you have nearly lost control," Dumbledore stated. "You're dangerous. If you can't keep control, I will have no choice but to lock you away until the tasks."

"You're not going to cage me," Harry said hoarsely, his voice strained from all the shouting at the top of his lungs. "I'll leave if you try."

"Harry, you have shown behaviour that makes you a dangerous liability to this school's students. I can't place you above your schoolmates. Not now."

Harry looked up at him.

"What do you mean 'now?"

Dumbledore was silent.

"If you're keeping secrets from me, secrets _regarding_ me, I will be furious."

Dumbledore seemed to contemplate his options. He looked at the other professors, and gestured for them to step outside, which they respectfully did.

"There is a prophecy about you. You, and your connection to Voldemort."

Harry was silent and glared daggers at Dumbledore, silently prompting him to go on.

"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'"

Harry was quiet.

"Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives?" he asked. "So one of us will have to kill the other."

"Yes."

"But there's more, isn't there? Something else you're not telling me."

Dumbledore fell silent once more, and Harry could read in his face that he was pained. Emotionally.

"Voldemort is… immortal."

"He can be killed," Harry said. "Any immortal creature which was once normal can be killed."

"I suspect… that he has created some objects. Objects of power. Ones that secure his life. I can't be certain."

"So I'll find them and destroy them."

"I suspect one has already been destroyed," Dumbledore said and opened a drawer, from which he retrieved an old diary with a hole in it.

Harry recognised it immediately. He had seen it in Ginny's memory of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Voldemort's diary."

"Yes. I suspect it held a fragment of Voldemort's soul. It is very ancient, very powerful, and extremely dark magic. Such an item is called a horcrux. As long as it exists, it the creator is still bound to this world, even if their body is destroyed. I suspect this is what Voldemort did, and the incident with Quirinus Quirrell already proves that he has returned, or at the very least never went very close towards Death's door."

Harry nodded.

"I'll share all I know of this matter with you, but you must control yourself," Dumbledore stressed. "I will tell you everything, I will help you with anything, but you must. Control. Yourself."

Harry nodded slightly. Dumbledore nodded as well.

"You may enter again," he called, and soon, the other professors were back inside the office. "Now that you have seen Harry's darker side, I feel compelled to tell you the rest. Harry," Dumbledore stared into the boy's eyes, "you may leave."

Harry nodded and did as he was asked. When he was out, Snape was the first to talk.

"So… the boy is – a werewolf."

"Not entirely," Dumbledore professed. "He is still fundamentally human, but he has undergone magical ceremonies and experiments to impart him with the qualities of werewolves, all but a very diluted enslavement to the full moon."

"And he is having trouble controlling himself, is he?" Moody asked.

"Yes, he is. I promise, he's usually a courteous and polite boy. I suspect other forces are at work, ones that have served to put him on edge. And to be honest, I think Harry realised this before I did."

"You think someone sabotaged the tournament," Snape stated.

"Yes, indeed I do, Severus."

"That's preposterous! No one would be brazen enough to infiltrate Hogwarts!"

"Eh, Death Eaters have done crazier," Moody said in his rough voice. "They're not to be underestimated. Lost my eye and nose to one."

"Which means that we cannot be certain of anything," Dumbledore continued.

"I suggest that we might… let things – play out," Snape uttered.

"And let Potter remain in harm's way!?"

"He is no stranger to lethal force," Dumbledore said. "He has been the target of assassinations since he was too young to speak. Not only by Death Eaters, but other forces as well."

"Such as?" Snape inquired.

"Harry tells me his guardian, his 'mistress', is a vampire, and she has made many enemies over her centuries of life. She has guided and taught Harry how to kill and manipulate people. She has also had experts in various fields useful for assassination brought in to teach him their crafts. The place they live in has been enchanted quite powerfully, and as such, time passes much faster in there, allowing Harry to learn in a year what it takes others a lifetime to master. He is, without a doubt, the most dangerous person on this school's grounds. Of that, there is no doubt in my mind. Has he not shown a particular aptitude for poisons and antidotes in Potions, Severus?"

Snape seemed reluctant to admit it, but he did.

"He has. When he forgets other, more miscellaneous and varied potions, he memorises poisons, their antidotes, and has even discovered improvements to already existing poisons. Frankly, it did frighten me, a little."

"And Alastor," Dumbledore focused on the DADA teacher, "is he not more than competent in your classes?"

"The boy is a true genius," Moody said. "He wasn't even moved when I cast the Imperious Cure on him, and he only flinched when he asked me to try the Cruciatus Curse, too. His reflexes are sharper than any I've ever seen, and he draws his wand at least fifteen times faster than any other in the class, or the classes above him. But I think his senses are his greatest tools."

"His senses?" McGonagall asked.

"One day, while the class was chatting before the start of class, I was observing him from my office. I dropped a needle on the stone floor, and as it landed, his ear twitched, and he looked towards my door. No human could ever have heard that. He seems to have acute awareness and constant vigilance of his surroundings at all times as well, because one day after class, I threw a jinx at him."

"Alastor!" McGonagall was about to throw a fit, but Alastor's next words stopped her.

"He stepped out of the way just as I was casting the spell, Minerva. He felt that something was coming his way, he reacted to it before it had been fully done. That is an instinct I have never witnessed in a human being before, but since he isn't entirely human, it makes sense now."

"Exactly. So, I agree with Severus. For now, we let it play out."

•••

The professors walked out the door, and each headed to their sleeping quarters. Moody's metal foot clanged at every step until he reached his own quarters. After he entered, he heard the door close behind him, unassisted. He whirled around, wand ready to unleash a hex to blast whatever fool ambushing him into the next century, but there was no one.

"Did you really think I would be foolish enough to alert you to my real location, 'professor Moody'?" a dark, cold voice rang out in the silent, stone–walled room.

"Who's there?" he asked cautiously, his eye rolling around his head, looking for the intruder. He was stumped to find no one, even with his magical eye.

"The one you're trying to kill," the voice replied. "Or should I say, trying to make me win the Tournament?"

Moody let out a deep, dark chuckle.

"So. You figured it out," he growled menacingly. "I'll admit, you always put me on edge, Potter."

"I knew you would reveal yourself, eventually," the disembodied voice said. "Did you honestly think that, with my sense of hearing, my sense of smell wouldn't be enhanced as well? I knew from the first moment you opened that flask that you weren't Alastor Moody. I'd be able to smell Polyjuice potion anywhere."

"So why don't you come out and face me, like a real man?"

"Because that isn't exactly my style. However, I will attack you. Sometime. Maybe. Guess we'll see."

"You like playing games, Potter?" Moody muttered. He then twirled around and swung his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

A green lightning shot out of his wand and disappeared when it struck the wall.

"Missed me."

'Moody' twirled around again, and Harry was standing right in front of him. His hand slammed the wand out of the imposter's, and he grabbed the man by the throat, his superhuman strength easily overpowering the human and forcing him to sit in a chair. Harry looked into 'Moody's' good eye intently, and the older wizard felt calm, and a commanding voice resounded in his head, one he felt he had to follow.

"**Tell me what you're planning.**"

A Moment of Peace

Harry walked down to the great hall to have breakfast. He had already jogged and showered, and it was Saturday, so he had the day all to himself. He had started exercising earlier in the morning, seeing as he'd rather avoid the Durmstrang boys. It wasn't a bias against them, he just preferred being nowhere near other people when he trained. He sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table as he had gotten used to since no one would talk to him anymore. Hermione still talked to him once in a while, and Harry enjoyed it, but he told her to stick to Ron some more. He was in a bad place for the time being, and needed to be alone, so that he could sort it out. However, it seemed Fate had other plans form him.

As he ate his breakfast, a girl in blue robes sat down in front of him. He didn't need to look to know that it was Fleur. He would recognise her scent anywhere. It was sweet, flowery, and fresh, as always. A good scent. Finishing his current bite of scrambled eggs, he looked up and put down the utensils before he took a sip of his coffee.

"So, what brings you before me this morning?" Harry asked in perfect French, and placed his chin on his intertwined hands, elbows resting on the table.

"I'm surprised you speak French," Fleur said. "Not many Englishmen do."

"I'm not your typical Englishman," Harry replied. "I'm a wizard, from a long and ancient line of pure–blooded wizards and witches of great accomplishments. Until my father married my muggleborn mother, and they had me. Ask any muggle Englishman what wizard he descends from, and he'll be too occupied trying to understand your words to understand what you asked. Or maybe you find that attractive about me?"

She smiled lightly at the jab, and he smirked.

"Well, you are definitely attractive," Fleur said. "You're handsome, clever, strong," she looked at his muscled arms, visible due to his t–shirt. "Any woman would be attracted to you."

"Hmm, not many at Hogwarts are," he said and took another sip of coffee.

"Why not?" she asked with a frown.

"Because, my dear Fleur, I am a womaniser who runs around breaking hearts and destroying dreams."

Fleur openly giggled.

"Really?"

"No, because I murdered five people, and it was all over the British Wizarding news in mid–August," Harry said with a smile.

Fleur started laughing, obviously believing he was being sarcastic.

"No, I mean it," Harry said, chuckling himself. "I did murder five people this summer."

The girl's laughter slowly died down, until she looked at him nervously.

"Accio," Harry muttered, and sat, waiting.

After a minute or two, a rolled–up mid–August edition of the Daily Prophet rested in his outstretched hand. He then unrolled it and laid the page in front of Fleur, openly showing her the picture of him covered in the Death Eaters' blood, holding his trusty bayonet. Fleur's eyes widened as she read the article, and looked at the picture.

"In my defence, they were torturing and murdering innocent civilians," Harry said softly. "I just decided to contain the casualties."

Fleur's eyes shot up to meet his, and the moment she did, she had lost.

"**Don't be scared**," he said with a certain command or authority in his voice, his eyes boring into hers. "**Just relax. I'm perfectly calm, and I would never hurt you.**"

Her breathing instantly slowed, deepened, and she calmed down. She studied him thoroughly.

"How did you do that?"

"I have a certain ability to sway others and their emotions," Harry stated as he kept eating his breakfast. "Just like you. Albeit, mine is far stronger and far more versatile."

"You noticed."

"That you're part Veela? Yes, I did. No woman without any kind of magical or supernatural assistance could elicit such a powerful reaction out of me."

She smirked devilishly.

"You mean I affected you?"

"You absolutely did," Harry confirmed shamelessly, and sipped his coffee again. "I could barely think straight. You just looked too damned amazing."

Fleur's eyelashes fluttered excessively for a second.

"Oh really?"

"But that was exactly what made me think that you weren't human, at least not entirely," Harry continued. "I have seen humanity's most beautiful women, and I have barely spared them more than a glance. But when I see a creature with a supernatural ability to charm others, I have a much harder time controlling myself. So thank you, for allowing me to know what you really are, and thereby build a resistance to it. You're still the most beautiful human I've ever seen, though."

"I'm flattered. But then, what are you?"

"What'd you mean?"

"You speak of 'humanity' as if you're removed from it. You know what I am. What are you?"

Harry stared into her eyes, casually sipping his coffee.

"A werewolf."

"Really?" she asked sensually.

"Really."

"So you're a beast?"

"Some of the time."

"And in bed as well?"

Harry couldn't help the smile of suppressed laughter creeping up on his face.

"D'you want to find out?" he returned just as seductively.

"I don't know," she muttered and faked a small, thoughtful pout. "I'll think it over."

"Well, if you ever want to find out, you can usually find me in the library. Or at any of the meals. Or outside."

Fleur smiled brightly as she stood up.

"I think I like you, Harry Potter."

Harry watched her walk away, and didn't fail to notice the seductive sway in her hips, making him smile even more as his eyes fell on her derriere.

"I think I like you too, Fleur Delacour. Very much so."

•••

Harry spent the next two weeks preparing for the tournament's first task. The informants Meerlinda had placed in the Ministry were all somewhat low–ranking, so they didn't have access to that much information, but the one who was close to colleagues working on the Triwizard Tournament had been able to catch snippets here and there. One involved dragons, something about taking an item from under them. The second had something to do with the Black Lake, and the third was a labyrinth of some sort. He spent hours in the library, pouring over tomes on magical beasts and dragons, as well as different spellbooks and potions to counter infections from dragon's teeth and claws, their flames and to reduce impact of blunt–force trauma.

He was currently reading a book on dragons, and he heard the light, clacking steps of a female approaching from behind. He smelt the sweet, flowery scent he had come to highly crave, and he immediately knew who it was. Fleur sat down next to him without a word and pulled a book from the stack of unread ones, opened it at the table of contents, and picked a section.

"How are you?" she asked in French.

"I'm well. You?"

"Good."

"Good," he said, and then put down his book and turned to face her. "Are you sure you're not just hungry for my looks? I don't exactly have an award–winning personality."

She turned her head to look at him.

"You're interesting. But yes, you're definitely good–looking as well."

Harry was silent for a little, and they merely stared into each other's eyes, sapphire clashing against emerald.

"You know about the Yule Ball, I take it?"

"Of course."

"Will you attend the Ball with me?" he asked bluntly.

Fleur looked at him with fascination for a few moments.

"I'd love to."

"Great," Harry said and tapped the book she was holding. "Might want to brush up on your dragons. They'll be in the first task."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you," Harry said with a shrug. "I'd rather not see your gorgeous face singed off."

Fleur blushed with a small giggle, and placed her hand softly on Harry's, and used her fingers to gently stroke the back of his hand.

"I think we'll make fast friends, Harry."

Harry turned his hand around and started stroking her palm back, as a smile crept up on his face.

"I think we will."

With that, Harry stood from the table and picked up books to go and put them back in their right places on the shelves. As he finished, he found Fleur concentrated on reading the book she had picked up.

_I don't think she's normally as flirty as this, being an adult, French witch. It may be my predatorial presence making her unable to completely control her libido, or it may have to do with her being a Veela. I'll have to research further._

Harry contemplated, then remembered the book under his arm, detailing various magical creatures. As he walked down the corridors and halls of the castle, he read the chapter on Veelas.

_So, it's her 'time of the month', is it?_

Apparently, Veelas underwent a certain period of time during the month where their urges and desires were enhanced. They were highly sensual and sexual creatures, seeing as their primary inherent ability lied in the attraction and 'enslavement' of men. Almost like succubi, but less rape–y and more seductive.

_Her inherent nature, coupled with my appearance, multiplied by my animal magnetism… shit, there are bound to be flames. Though, I can't really say that I complain._

Harry walked in his own thoughts until he felt a presence to his left. A strange one. Not a human, not a vampire, werewolf, ghost or otherwise. Just _something_. He looked up, to see a door ajar, and inside he caught just a flash of brilliant, red hair. Not like Ginny's. He had seen that hair before, though. In pictures. Harry dropped the book and bolted through the door. He found himself in a spiralling staircase, and looked up. He caught the briefest of flashes of a woman, still with that red hair.

Harry stormed up the stairs, faster than he normally would. He took four steps at a time, eager to reach the top. He quickly did, and burst out into the Astronomy Tower. He looked out to the edge, where the railing was. And there, leaning against the rail, her form silhouetted by the red, setting sun, stood that woman. Harry took a slow step forwards, unable to conjure words to utter. His eyes were wide, and his breath caught in his throat. The woman turned around to face him, leaning up against the railing. She was so beautiful, so warm and kind. She had deep, emerald green eyes, and she smiled a smile which could brighten up the darkest reaches of space, and her emerald eyes glistened in the light. Harry's slow steps forward turned into a run as he charged to embrace the woman, something he had wanted his entire life. But just as he wrapped his arms around her, she disappeared. And Harry, having run as fast as he could, was sent flying over the railing.

It took him a moment to realise that the winds hadn't picked up. He was freefalling, and quickly approaching the grassy ground beneath him. Harry couldn't wrap his head around what was happening.

_Am I… going to die? Here? Now? That seems… kinda anticlimactic. I haven't killed Voldemort yet._

His world slowed down as his body instinctively activated the vampire blood in his system and allowed his brain to process everything a thousand times faster. He felt like he was practically hanging still in mid–air. It was then that his mind refocused, honing into the powerful tool he had made it into over the course of three cerebral centuries.

_I… I can't get out of this. I can't turn into a cloud of mist– Hell, I can't even turn into a bat! I don't have any powers to let me fly. If I transport myself away, I'll just strike the ground somewhere else. I can take a lot of punishment, but even Meerlinda would die from this fall. Shit! Think, Harry!_

His eyes narrowed.

_Harry Potter. You're famous in the __**wizarding world**__! Don't think like a sorcerer, think like a __**wizard**__! Broom? No, it wouldn't get here on time. I can't shoot myself upwards to break the fal–_

Harry quickly pulled his wand out of his belt holster for it.

"Arresto Momentum!"

His descent started slowing down, and kept decreasing in speed, until he landed on the ground quite roughly, but alive. As he landed on his front, he felt his lungs being pierced by several sharp objects: his broken ribs. He was incredibly glad they hadn't punctured his heart as well, seeing as that could very well have been the end of him, though the situation he currently found himself in seemed to be one completely bereft of joy. He felt like his forehead had been cracked open, which it most likely had. His left arm had gone out to help break the fall, resulting in it being bent backwards, with the wrist and his right leg being similarly twisted. His nose had broken, and he had three cracked and one missing tooth, as well as his jaw being completely shattered. He felt the sharp, unimaginable pain all throughout his body, and groaned loudly. He heard screams some distance away, and the thundering of dozens of feet running across the ground. His vision had dark edges, slowly creeping further towards the centre which became blurry, and his hearing became muffled, as well as a sharp, high–pitched ringing noise droned on in his ear. He could smell and taste only blood, very strongly. He spat out the one tooth rolling around in his mouth, and used his intact right arm, still carrying his very much intact wand, to push himself over to lie on his back. He looked up, though now only through one eye. He could feel that his left one had been filled with blood due to punctured blood–vessels in it. He tried focusing on anything, and thought he saw the same woman standing behind some of the girls and boys gathering around him, but she turned around and disappeared.

"M–mu–" he tried to speak and raise his hand, but he was too weak, and his speech was drowned in the gurgling of his blood welling up in his throat.

Tears rolled out of his eye sockets and down his face as he felt the warm, familiar and safe presence leave him, making the air and ground seem a hundred degrees colder.

_Don't leave me alone… in the cold darkness… again…_

As his vision went completely black, the last thing he saw was silvery blond hair showering over his face, and he heard the concerned calls of a French woman. And, despite his nostrils being full of blood, he could smell that sweet honey and rosy scent.

•••

Harry could hear a sharp ringing noise in his ears, and muffled chatter. He could barely smell anything at all, except the sterile cloth of the hospital bed he was in. His left eye still felt somewhat swollen, but otherwise alright. His teeth were all back, he checked with his tongue. His nose still felt a little smashed, but it would likely pass. His left arm was encased in something hard, and his forehead was wrapped in bandages. His right leg was encased in something hard as well. His jaw was set with splinter and bandages as well, though he could feel that it had healed perfectly. Breathing brought an ache to his chest, signalling that his lungs and ribs were still healing. His right arm was just lying beside him, unharmed and untouched.

Harry could vaguely sense a few presences in the room, but when he reached out his sixth sense, he felt nauseous to the point of feeling like he was going to throw up, and reeled it back in. He couldn't force his eyes to open, but his hearing gradually lost the tinnitus, and gained sharpness and clarity. He could hear Dumbledore talking with someone. And when that someone spoke, he instantly felt a surge of happiness rush over him.

"Mistress," Harry rasped out, and before he knew it, his icy–cold right hand was being picked up by a pair of warm ones.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he heard Meerlinda's gentle voice whisper to him.

Her hand gently caressed his head and face, and tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

"She looked so real," he croaked. "Her presence felt so _real_."

"Who did, Harry?"

"My mum," he said as his breathing picked up and he sniffled. "I saw her, on the Astronomy Tower. She looked so real, I just wanted to embrace her," he began quietly sobbing. "I just wanted to touch her."

Meerlinda merely kept softly caressing and brushing his head and hair with her hand, whilst holding his undamaged hand with her other. Harry couldn't see her, as he couldn't open his eyes, but he knew she probably smiled. Despite his training, despite having grown up learning to kill by actually killing, and despite becoming cruel and ruthless, the deepest desire Harry had was still to see his parents, to meet them. He was incredibly strong, physically, mentally and emotionally, but his desire to see his parents had always prevented him from enjoying cruelty. His very human emotions keeping at bay the monstrous ones. He would still _do_ horrible things, but he didn't _enjoy_ them. And his parents had been his anchor on humanity since he was a boy.

"What time is it?" Harry asked after his tears and agonised breathing had subsided, which seemed like it had lasted for hours.

"It's almost two at night," Meerlinda replied calmly.

"How long have I been out?"

"About a week," she replied. "Your headmaster came to find me after what had happened. He brought me here to see you."

"Have you been…?"

"Not yet. You're not an average person, so I wanted you to heal substantially on your own before I risked feeding you. You've never been this hurt since the ritual, so I don't know how such a shock of vitae might affect you while you're healing."

"Right."

"By the way, what's this I hear about a girlfriend?"

…

"What? Now?" Harry croaked out, wincing at his laboured breathing.

"And she's French?" Meerlinda continued, not caring about how embarrassed her charge might be.

"You mean Fleur? She's nice, is all."

"And French."

"What'd you have against the French, anyway?"

"Let's see, shall we? They raided our chantries. Slaughtered our kind. Burned us on the stake and drowned us. 'Hung us till dead'. Shaved, beat, raped and humiliated us. Practically everything that is painful and deadly. This was before we became Kindred, mind you, and it only became worse."

"Well, Fleur's just a school girl. And a _witch_. I doubt she'd participate on the wrong side of a _witch trial_."

"Half–dead, and you're as cheeky as always, you little brat."

"Full–dead, and you're as biased as always, you old hag."

Meerlinda chuckled, and Harry tried as well, only to start coughing at the attempt.

"Shit," he mumbled. "How long until the first task?"

"I'm told it's three days from now."

"Did you bring IV equipment?"

"I did. I'll just set it up, and we'll start the transfusion."

"Great."

Harry noticed that Dumbledore had left the hospital wing to leave the pair alone, which he was grateful for. Within minutes, Meerlinda had set up the equipment and was sitting next to Harry, a needle in each of his arms connecting him to the small machine set on his nightstand. Meerlinda quickly inserted the other needle in each of her own arms, and sent her blood into the left appendage. She turned on the machine, and a cycle of blood flowed between them as the machine slowly pumped Meerlinda's blood into Harry's circulatory system, and Harry's blood was introduced into Meerlinda's system, converting into vitae. Harry concentrated, and focused his new, potent blood on healing his several injuries, one by one.

An hour later, Harry was completely healed, though he felt a dull ache all throughout his body. Meerlinda turned the machine off, and started packing it back down. Harry helped her, and got dressed in the fresh pair of clothes that had been laid out for him. He was informed that the others had been torn and bloodied after his fall.

"When're you leaving?" Harry asked his guardian quietly, getting close to her.

"In just a minute. The headmaster will escort me outside the gates, and then take me back to London."

"How are things there?"

"John Dee is making leeway, but it will still take months for him to dispose of Bowesley, if he can manage at all. He's a scientist and sorcerer, not a fighter or general. He can't lead an armed uprising."

"And where're you caught in the middle of that?"

"I'm Tremere, so I'm on Dee's side. I keep out of it, mostly, but he's actually been asking around for a masterless ghoul who seems to be clever and dangerous. Says he looked like a twelve–year–old boy with black hair and green eyes. Know a ghoulish creature befitting that description?"

Harry smiled lightly, and kissed Meerlinda's forehead.

"Thank you, mistress. You've always been there for me."

"Just make sure never to stab me in the back," she smiled and kissed Harry on the cheek.

She then turned around and walked off, heading down towards the entrance hall. It was well past curfew, so Harry decided to go to the kitchens before heading outside to watch the moon, which had just passed the full moon. Harry hadn't even noticed the phase that month. Now he better understood how he survived and healed so well from that fall. He stood a fair distance from the Beauxbatons carriage, under the shadow of the old oak tree. Harry's ear twitched when he heard a squeaking sound, and he turned to look at the carriage. His powerful vision still hadn't quite returned, but he could clearly make out Fleur sneaking out of the carriage wearing silk pyjamas and barefooted. She looked around for signs of anyone, before she took off running towards the castle. Harry wouldn't help the small whistle he did, drawing her attention. She looked around, spooked, but couldn't find him in the shadows. He smirked and stepped out from under the tree, his eyes glowing bright yellow in the darkness of the night. Her scared expression turned into relief, and she ran towards him as fast as she could. Harry braced for impact and caught her as she jumped into his arms.

"I was so worried," she said, short on breath. "I saw you fall, and when you landed, I–"

Harry cut her off, but not with words. She was silenced as he placed a deep, yet chaste kiss on her soft and delicate lips. He pulled back and smiled at her.

"Thank you, for your concern."

She was shocked speechless at what Harry had just done. Harry merely kept his hands on her hip and waist and kept smiling softly at her. She eventually smiled back and leant into him as well. They stood under the tree for minutes and minutes, kissing and caressing one another. Until Harry broke away.

"You know I'm fourteen, right?" he asked her with a smirk.

"What!?" she exclaimed, eyes wide like saucers.

"Yeah, I'm fourteen. But I honestly don't care much about that," he said before he leant back in, and Fleur was shocked for a little, but melted into his ministrations again. "I think I'm starting to love you," he whispered between their lips touching.

"I think I'm starting to like you too," she whispered back between kisses as well.

The First Task

Harry was sitting in an unused classroom, in the middle of a circle and David's Star drawn in chalk. Candles were placed at every point of the star, and in his hand was a silver bracelet. He chanted in Latin as he used his knife to slice his thumb and coat the chain in his blood. The metal seemed to absorb the blood, and it took on a bronze hue. As his chanting reached a peak in intensity, the candles suddenly flared up, and then died out. He opened his eyes and looked at the chain.

"Good," he muttered, and looked at his watch. Twenty minutes until he had to be in the tent to start the first task.

Harry stood up and made his way through the castle, until he reached the outdoors. He ran over the large stretch of grass and reached the tent. When he entered, wearing a black Henley, black cargo pants and black boots, he saw the other champions. Krum and Fleur were both sitting down, Fleur looking rather sick compared to Krum's stoic façade. Cedric was pacing nervously and sent him a nod when he entered. Harry returned it and walked over to Fleur and sat down next to her. She quickly took his hand and smiled weakly at him.

"You ready?" she asked. They had taken to communicate in French constantly, both because it was her preferred language, and because it allowed them to talk privately around other students not from Beauxbatons.

"Yeah, just needed to do some last–minute preparations," he said and pulled the simple chain out of his pocket. He swiftly and discreetly latched it around the wrist of the hand she had used to take his. "It's been enchanted to take the worst of the fire."

Her eyes widened a little, and she seemed to be about to protest, but Harry squeezed her hand.

"Just a safe–guard," Harry whispered. "I'll heal. You won't."

She looked deeply into his eyes, and he looked into hers.

"Champions!" Ludo Bagman's voice called out, and all the addressed students looked up at him as he entered the tent. "It is time! Give it everything you have!"

Crouch walked in after him, holding a purple, velvet bag. Harry was almost certain he knew what was in it, due to the bag moving and squirming, with guttural sounds coming from it.

"Champions, gather," he said sternly, and all the champions closed in around him. "In this bag are four miniature dragons, each with a number tied around their necks. The dragon you draw is the dragon you will face, and the number is the order in which you will go. The objective is simple: take the golden egg placed amongst the dragon's real eggs, and return to safe space away from the dragon. You are not allowed to harm the dragon or its eggs. Do you all understand?"

They all nodded.

"Ladies first, Ms Delacour," he said and held the open bag towards her.

She cast a quick glance at Harry before hesitantly sticking her hand into the bag and pulling out one of the miniatures. A Welsh Green, with the number two. She looked at it intensely, as if she could will away her fear and anxiety. She was pale as a sheet, and Harry wanted to hold her hand in that moment, but it would be unprofessional.

Next was Krum, who pulled out the Chinese Fireball, with a three around its neck. Then came Cedric, who drew the Swedish Short–snout, with the number one, and finally came Harry. He calmly pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, with the number four. It bared its tine fangs at him, and without thinking, Harry held it close to its face and growled back at it. It quickly started whining and crumpled up, and Harry started chuckling.

"Serves you right," he muttered, and then noticed everyone looking at him like he was crazy. "What?"

Fleur calmed down and faintly smiled, whereas Krum just scowled even more than usually and trudged away. Cedric seemed to be astonished but shook his head and went back to pacing.

"When the cannon fires, Mr Diggory will make his way into the arena. Prepare yourselves," Crouch said, and then left the tent. Bagman followed after enthusiastic well–wishes.

Harry and Fleur walked over to the place they had been seated before and sat down again. Harry took her hands and gently rubbed them.

"You'll be fine," he reassured her. "You're clever, I know you are. Just play to your strengths, and you'll do fine."

"What are your strengths?" she asked and leant into him, whilst he wrapped his right arm around her.

"Fist–fights," he said. "Ritual and blood magic. Hunting, and killing."

"Mine are charms and transfiguration," she muttered. "And seducing men."

"Think you can seduce a female dragon?" Harry asked with a snicker.

Fleur placed her left hand on his stomach, and carefully traced it around, even sliding it quite low.

"No, but I can seduce you," she whispered into his ear, then flicked her tongue at his ear–lobe, and her hand went down onto his thigh, right beside his crotch, coming dangerously close to his manhood.

"You definitely can," he muttered and very briefly caught her lips with his own. "But I'm not the task at hand."

Fleur nodded quietly.

"I'll try my hardest."

"As will I."

Soon, the cannon sounded, and Cedric walked out. He was done in a while, but finished quickly. Then came Fleur's cannon, and Harry listened intently. He could hear her feet moving about, her rapid breathing, and the growls, grunts and roars of the dragon. But she finished rather quickly as well, not having been hurt too badly. Then came Krum, and after that, it was Harry. Harry made his way to the entrance to the arena, and in contrast to the cheering of the other champions, almost every Hogwarts student was silent as he came out, only receiving cheers and applause from the staff and the other schools, as well as Hermione and the Weasleys. Harry looked up and found the other schools to be perplexed at only five Hogwarts students applauding the other of their own champions. Harry calmly walked into the arena, and looked at the foul beast of a dragon at the other end. It was practically covered in horns and spikes, and its yellow eyes looked ready to incinerate him.

Harry jumped down from a rock, then another, and soon, he was standing in the middle of the arena, staring down the dragon which was easily within fire–breath distance. Their eyes were locked, and neither moved.

"_And by Merlin's beard, Potter is staring down the dragon!_" Harry heard Bagman exclaim with his amplified voice. "_What a courageous feat!_"

Harry stepped just a few steps closer, and the dragon lowered its head. Soon, his face was right at its snout, and their eyes were completely locked. It could easily take off his head if it wanted.

"_Dear me, he is awfully close!_"

Harry reacted quickly as it snapped after his head. He whipped it to the side and used his hand to guide the massive head away. He then jumped for the egg, but its tail slammed right into him, sending him flying into the stands with two massive holes in his torso. As he landed on the ground, he rolled into cover behind a large rock as the dragon sent a jet of flame his way. Luckily, the dragon hadn't struck any major organs, so the wounds closed rather quickly. He looked out from his cover and saw that the dragon had its eyes trained on his location. He also noticed that a few people had screamed when he was struck, but he paid them no mind. Practically every student knew after reading the Daily Prophet that he was a dark creature, so why bother hiding it?

Harry jumped up and ran out of his cover, along the arena's edge and jumped behind another when another fire stream was shot at him. He pulled out his wand and readied himself. He pointed it at a rock, made it levitate, and sent it flying at the dragon. It struck the dragon right in the head, and Harry used that distraction to close the distance to a cover closer to the dragon. When it regained its bearing, it sent a stream of fire to where he had previously been. It also started stamping towards it, and when its head passed the rock he was hiding behind, he quickly jumped up and grabbed the dragon's snout, wrapping his arms around it to keep it closed, and then kicked his foot underneath the heavy rock, breaking his toes, but getting solid foothold. His muscles strained immensely under the strength of the dragon trying to pull away, but he wouldn't let it go.

He groaned under the force, and then made a strong, final pull, dragging the dragon's head and throat to the ground. Thinking quickly, he sheathed his wand and sent a small stream of blood into his arms. He word– and wandlessly cast the Amplifying charm, but using the magical control he had practiced ever since he learned he was a wizard, directed the spell's effect to his palms. He slammed them together in a clap, right above the dragon's head, and a loud crack resounded throughout the arena, concussing both Harry and the dragon.

He pulled his foot out from under the rock with a pained moan, his ears starting to bleed quite heavily, and started stumbling his way towards the golden egg. He just managed to grab it, before he saw the hind leg of the dragon come crashing down towards him. It would easily kill him if he did nothing. He threw the egg over to the entrance of the arena and slammed his two hands against the clawed foot crashing down with almost a tonne of force on him. Harry called up his rage with a battle roar, and his arms bulged and transformed, as did his legs and his midsection. The claws of the dragon's foot dug into his transformed shoulders, arms, and chest. Harry let out a howl of pain, but his body held strong against the foot, and soon, where Harry had stood, was a large, bipedal, humanoid wolf, easily three and a half metres tall, bulging with muscles and with a frothing snout. It roared as it dug its claws into the dragon's foot, through the scales, and started pulling the dragon. With a surge of unholy, vampiric strength, the wolf roared even louder, and swung the dragon backwards, lifting it off the ground and slamming it into the ground, making the ground shake powerfully, as people screamed, shouted, and cried on the stands.

The wolf, however, dropped to its reverting knees, and slowly receded back into Harry, who sat on hands and knees, panting and heaving in tattered clothes as his arms, shoulders and chest bled profusely. He was shaking and sweating, and he had trouble breathing. He could feel his limbs give in, as he could feel that they had been torn apart by the exertion, and some of his ligaments were completely torn as well. He crawled away, using a single arm to drag himself towards the exit, where the egg lay. His breath was ragged and irregular, adrenalin pumped excessively through his veins, and his heart beating at far over the point where a human would have an arrhythmia, well over two hundred beats per minute. But, despite his physical and physiological supremacy over humans, he was still a living creature. His heart stopped beating with any semblance of rhythm, and he felt it clearly. The stabbing pain in his chest was unbearable, and he screamed in agony. He could barely think, as oxygen–rich blood was denied his brain. He saw black spots, and then the encroaching darkness. He pushed through, and kept crawling until he placed his hand on the egg at the entrance. Just in time to hear the dragon rustle, roar and he just barely heard the flame coming for him. Using the last bit of strength he had left, he sent his mind deep into his body, into his mindscape. He forced his brain, though the mystical power in his blood to work at ten thousand times the rate of a normal human brain, stronger than when he had done it to analyse his situation as he fell.

_Harry stood above his own body, looking down at it as it was almost touched by the flames. He crouched down next to it and studied it._

"_Ligaments in shoulders, chest, arms, hips, thighs, knees and ankles sprung. Muscles shredded in the same places. An instant until the fire reaches me. I will go into shock in less than two seconds, so I have to remain calm, and sever my connection to pain receptors in my lower body. Then I will have less than two seconds to stabilise myself. Heart palpitations irregular at 273 beats per minute. Breathing has passed into hyperventilation. Five seconds of consciousness if the fire kills me quickly. Nine if it isn't enough to utterly overwhelm my regeneration. I will pass into the underworld for a brief minute. Whilst there, I have to compel spirits into possessing my body. I have to make room for at least ten, preferably a hundred. Speed is of the essence. The passage of time fluctuates in the underworld, but I can rely that it will be faster for the moment. Then, I call upon Gaia's gift to negate the flames. I then rouse my rage and force my body to regenerate quicker. I put my blood to aid in the regeneration, as well as fortifying my body. I'll be practically invulnerable for twenty seconds. I'll transport myself into the medical tent, and hope Madam Pomfrey can help me. If not, my soul will eventually be torn from my body. In short, I'll die."_

_Harry nodded, and stood up. He then leant backwards, and fell into the ground, until he passed right through the ground and emerged in a terribly dreadful and dreary, grey place, ghastly winds passing around him carrying the wails of the departed. Harry crouched down and placed his palms together. He then placed them on the ground, and a glowing white circle with several ancient symbols of shamanic origins spread out beneath them. The wails became louder and louder, until he saw horrifying images of tormented souls soar directly into him. One after the next, dozens of tormented, depraved, and horrendously twisted souls of killers, murderers and tyrants, the strongest of the deceased. He felt the bloodlust, the seething desire for pain and suffering, but he felt his body grounded for the time–being. He let himself fall backwards again, and sank through the ground once more, until he saw his body lying on the ground again, his legs being charred. He felt ice cold at his feet. He closed his eyes, and felt his consciousness return to his body._

_Seven seconds left._

He felt the flame reach his hip, and lost all sensation in his legs. He focused, and his heart rate suddenly dropped.

_195 beats per minute, blood pressure normalised, breathing stabilised._

He then let his wolf spirit flow through his body, and the flames stopped hurting, nor did they injure him. He had become the master of fire, but only for a moment.

_Five seconds._

Harry called upon his rage and his blood, and felt his body begin to heal, ligaments melting back together and muscles re–stitching themselves. He then felt nauseous as his body fell through the ground, and into the medical tent.

_One second._

He briefly heard the muffled shouts and cries of others, but he blacked out.

•••

Harry once more smelt the sterile cloth of the hospital bed he found himself in the second time over the past week. He still felt burnt and hammered, practically near–death, but just barely alive thanks to the damned souls slowly leaving his body. As depraved as they had been during their own lives, they had now helped save his. Any hope they had of redemption was now one step closer to realisation. But as it was, only one soul could leave a body at a time. The already–dead souls acted as a traffic–blockade so that Harry's soul could stay in his body longer, to allow his body to heal properly, and thereby **not** kill him by ejecting his own soul. Harry was happy he had undergone the equivalent of centuries of training and study. Without them, he might very well be dead.

Harry tried pushing himself off the bed, only to groan and stop when a sharp pain shot through his body. His body was still shattered, and would likely be so for days, or even weeks. In his current state, he doubted he'd be able to move properly for months. But at least, he would live. He opened his eyes, and saw that a few people were leaning over him, studying him intently. He recognised none of them, and they all wore rather formal robes.

_Ministry men._

"Get away from me," he mumbled and blinked until his eyes focused properly.

"He has only just regained consciousness," one of them said and scribbled something on a notepad, "yet already comprehends what is going on around him. Magnificent."

"I said," Harry muttered and grit his teeth in exertion, "get away from me."

Suddenly, the men were lightly pushed away by an unseen force, granting Harry space. Fighting against every instinct in his body to remain lying and the pain induced by the action, he slowly raised himself to a sitting position.

"I'm not an animal in a zoo," he growled. "Ask permission if you want to study me."

"You were unconscious," he heard Crouch's cold and stern voice. "They couldn't have gott–"

"Exactly," Harry pointed out. "Get the fuck away from me, cunts."

Dumbledore calmly walked over and sat down in a chair next to the boy.

"Are you alright, Harry?" he asked with concern as he gently put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I will be, in a few weeks," the werewolf grunted out, trying to block out the pain. "You wouldn't happen to have pain–killers, would you? A bottle should be good."

"You mean muggle pain–relieving medicine?"

"Yeah."

"Unfortunately not, I'm afraid."

"I should have expected that."

"Harry Potter, you're in the custody of the Ministry of Magic's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If you try to resist, you will–" Crouch tried to say, but Harry cut him off.

"I'm not in anyone's custody, Crouch. If you want to kill me, do so. But you'll be putting down the only person capable of killing Voldemort."

"–you will be stunned and taken to a secure cell, from which we can observe you. You're too dangerous to be free."

"He is my student, Mr Crouch," Dumbledore said and stood to his full height as he approached the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. "I will be the judge of that. And you cannot jail a human under the accusation that he is a dark creature. Your own laws prohibit it."

"He is obviously not human, Dumbledore," Crouch countered, getting angered by the headmaster. "He is obviously a werewolf. We need to study him so that we can find out how he can control his transformation, not to mention that he resembles no werewolf we have ever encountered."

"Because I'm not a werewolf," Harry shot in. "I'm a human with lycanthropic traits. There's a difference."

"Stop lying, Potter, you're not helping your situation. Just be quiet and complacent whilst we perform our tests and take you–"

"Now, who in their right mind would do that?" Harry asked with a dark chuckle. "You must be insane if you think such a line would work on anyone. Besides, if you take me to the Ministry, I will break out, and I will start butchering wizards and witches. Within six hours, there won't be a single employee of the Ministry in the building who will remain alive. And then, your society would fall apart."

Crouch and Dumbledore, not to mention the posse of ministry underlings gathered close to Crouch, all looked at Harry, shocked.

"I don't want to, mind you, but I will do it if you intend on treating me like that."

"Harry, will you ever stop threatening people with destroying their lives?" Dumbledore asked.

"No."

And suddenly, Harry vanished without a trace. Crouch was quiet, astonished, for a moment.

"Spread out and find him!"

•••

Harry plumped down on the ground next to the oak tree he always used to exercise. He discovered that it was night time once more.

"I really need to stop getting so injured," he groaned to himself as he sat up against the tree.

He then pulled up the left sleeve of his hospital pyjamas to reveal a tattoo on the underside of it, which was only visible when he was severely injured. He extended his canine teeth into fangs and bit his right thumb, before he smeared the bleeding thumb across the tattoo. Nothing happened for a little while, but then his body started feeling warm, and he felt everything in his body still injured healing at an exceptional rate, even for him. He sat concentrated for an hour until the sensation stopped, and when it was done, he was fully healed. He looked down to see the tattoo fade.

"And now I've spent my one–time–use rejuvenation. Damn it."

It was a ritual his mistress had developed a few real–time decades before she had found him. It created a tattoo on the human's skin, which could be activated by smearing their blood across it. The thaumaturge would then become aware of the human's state of injury and was able to heal them using their own blood from afar. It was a very powerful ritual, and it could only be used on the same person once every seasonal year. But he was now completely healed, thanks to his mistress responding to his distress call. Harry got up on aching muscles, but quickly got rid of the tire by running a lap around the lake. When he returned to the oak tree, he saw Fleur sitting under it, dressed in her pyjamas again, trying to comfort herself. He came up to her and sat down.

"Why the sad face?"

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him tight.

"Would you ever stop trying to kill yourself?"

"Maybe," he jokingly said, which only made her squeeze harder around his throat. "Okay, okay!"

She released him, but immediately pulled him into a kiss. Long and sweet, sending all her concern, worry, and hopelessness into him. He returned it passionately and pulled her into his arms.

"I think I could get used to this," he said with a smirk

"Jerk."

They sat under the tree for what seemed like hours, kissing and touching each other caringly. Harry knew that he would one day, or more specifically night, have to forsake such pleasures as this. But tonight wasn't that night. He definitely wasn't stupid, he knew that the plan was for him to eventually die and rise as a Kindred himself. It was what he wanted. But Fleur… she was special. He did want to be with her, he really did. They had talked a lot between the first time they met, and when he had thrown himself off the Astronomy tower, and he had really come to like her. He even saw a potential partner in her. In his dreams, she was a potential partner, at least. He knew he would have to part with her before long. After a while, they broke off their kisses, and simply snuggled close to each other. Harry's body produced an enormous amount of body heat, so Fleur didn't get cold, and the pair sat comfortably like that for almost an hour, until Harry heard voices coming from the school courtyard, a good distance away.

"Damn," he muttered.

"What?" Fleur asked worriedly.

"Crouch and his cronies are coming."

"Why, what do they want?"

"They want to lock me in a cell in the Ministry so that they can learn what kind of creature I am."

"You're a werewolf, right? What more could they want to know?"

"They want to know how I can control my transformation. Besides, I'm not entirely a werewolf. There's still some human in me. I'm sorry, but I have to go," he muttered and kissed the top of her head.

She silently nodded and stood up. When he got up as well, she quickly placed a kiss on his lips, and then walked back towards the Beauxbatons carriage. Harry sent a last, longing look after her, before he ran towards the courtyard, and made short work of climbing its façade. He then stood up on the room and looked down on the people from the Ministry.

"Give it up, Crouch," he called out, drawing attention to himself. "I'm not coming with you, and you can't stop me. I'm fully healed and back at my full strength."

"And how that is possible is exactly why we're taking you in! If that magic could be used to help the injured and fatally ill, the res–"

"If you want to play on sympathy or empathy, you're dealing with the wrong man. I feel neither. I don't care for the plight of average wizards. I gained this power so that I could defeat Voldemort, and that is the only thing I will do with it."

Even in the relative darkness of the night, Harry's glowing eyes easily picked out Crouch's narrowed ones.

"I would have thought the Boy Who Lived would und–"

"How many times to I have to tell you braindead morons!?" Harry exclaimed and threw his hands in the air. "I am not the Boy Who Lived! I am the Orphan Who Survived! Get that through your thick fucking skulls! I am no saviour! I am merely a vengeful boy who will hunt and kill the one who murdered my parents!"

"You Know Who is gone! There is no Dark Lord to take revenge out on!"

"If he truly is gone, then why are you still afraid of speaking his self–proclaimed name!? That is an act of cowardice, from someone whose very reputation and life is built on being courageous and unflinching in the face of danger! The wizarding society must have low standards for their heroes! Especially if a toddler can be considered one!"

Crouch's nostrils and eyes flared.

"Continue your foolish endeavour to capture me! Send every Auror, every dementor, every member of the Ministry of Magic! I am not limited to the wizarding world! You will never catch me, and if you miraculously somehow do, I will slip through your fingers like smoke! Nowhere in this world or the one below is too far for me! Hell, I could hide in London, and you would never get me!"

Crouch seemed furious, but he stormed off with his posse following close behind. Harry watched them go, watched them until they exited the gate, at which point, they apparated away.

"I must say, Harry," said boy heard the voice of Albus Dumbledore behind him, "that that was quite a demoralising speech."

"It's true, though. I don't care about them. I wouldn't go out of my way to harm anyone, but I won't go out of my way to help them, either. My life has one single purpose, and that is the destruction of Voldemort. When he is dead, I don't care what happens to me anymore. But I won't stop fighting until he's gone forever."

Dumbledore nodded quietly.

"If that is truly the case, then there is something I need to tell you."

Harry was quiet, a clear sign for Dumbledore to go on.

"I have researched these objects I believe Voldemort to have created. Horcruxes. And there is something I have come to believe. I believe that on the night that he killed James and Lily, and he intended to kill you, his soul was so fractured and brittle, that a little piece of it broke off from the rest, and latched itself on to the only living thing it could find nearby."

Harry didn't believe what he was hearing. He turned around to face the old headmaster.

"What?"

"I believe, that a bit of Voldemort's soul latched itself onto you, Harry. I believe, that for Voldemort to truly be able to be killed, you have to die as well."

Harry studied Dumbledore's face and eyes for the slightest trace of a lie, but found only sadness.

"I have to die?"

"Yes. You must die."

Harry turned away and looked out over the Black Lake. He had to die to kill Voldemort? How bloody ironic. So much so, that Harry began to chuckle. First chuckle, then laugh.

"I have to die, so that Voldemort can die?" he laughed. "That is so backwards!"

But he didn't stop laughing. He couldn't stop. He was raised like a pig for slaughter! Kept alive so that he could die at just the right moment! Harry's laughter took a long while to died down.

"Headmaster, I'm leaving Hogwarts for a while, but I'll be back in time for the Yule Ball. Can you write up documents on where you think these horcruxes might be, as well as what they could be?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"Then deliver them to my mistress' chantry, and I'll start looking for them immediately."

"If this is how you want to do it, the I won't stop you," Dumbledore said. "But if you ever need to reach Sirius or any other member of the Order of the Phoenix, the headquarters can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. I'll be reorganising the Order as quickly as possible."

"Right," Harry said.

"I'll also tell them that you are to be commander–in–chief," Dumbledore said. "You are best prepared to face the Death Eaters and Voldemort on equal footing, once Voldemort regains a body. I have a feeling it will happen soon."

"I've had an ominous feeling of late as well," Harry nodded. "I'll consult the omens, see what I can divine."

"You're proficient at divination?"

"Not the crap Trelawny teaches here, but I have some skill, yes."

"Very well. I have a feeling that the war starts soon."

"It will," Harry stated calmly. "And if Voldemort doesn't start it, I will. And I **will** win it. By the way, can you come by sometime and cast some wards and charms on my mistress' chantry? Apparition, portkey, the works? I'm rather interested in hiding it with the Fidelius charm, in particular."

"I will. When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. I have some writing to do before I leave."

"Alright. I will inform the staff of your absence."

"Good."

A Declaration of War

Fleur woke up Monday morning to have class with her Beauxbatons schoolmates, but as she lifted her head from her pillow, she saw an envelope with her name in neat, curly writing on it. She looked around for a sign on one of her roommates that they had put it there, but none of them acknowledged her at the early hour. She quickly opened it and was almost brought to tears by the contents.

_Fleur_

_For as long as I have lived, my only goal has been to avenge the deaths of my parents. Now, I have set out to do just that. Know this: Voldemort WILL return, and when he does, the wizarding world will be thrown into the tumult and chaos characteristic of war. I've set out to begin this war early, and catch my enemies off–guard. I cannot tell you where I have gone, or where I will be going, nor can I even tell you with certainty that you will even see me again. I will work my hardest to return to Hogwarts for the Yule Ball, but I can only stay that one night. I will return for the other tasks as well, if I still draw breath by then._

_Honestly, I was incredibly sceptical about you at first. I doubted you felt anything very deeply, or that you cared for anyone. I assumed that you, like almost every other human being would reject me for being a werewolf. True, I did manipulate you at first to be calm in my presence, but only so that I could talk to you properly. I have only done so once, and I was very pleasantly surprised when you seemed to have genuine feelings for me, as I, honestly to my regret, have for you. An ancient saying goes that loves makes a man weak, especially before battle. I fear that, if I were to stay and grow even closer to you, I would be unable to perform the task that has been laid out before since I was orphaned October 31st, 1981._

_It is with this in mind, that I implore you: if you intend to have any part in the coming war, let professor Dumbledore know in secrecy that you wish to join the Order of the Phoenix once the school year is over, and you graduate from Beauxbatons. He will take care of you. And try to get to know Hermione Granger, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George Weasley (the bunch with the red hair). The Weasley parents are members of the Order as well, and Hermione will almost certainly want to join them as well. I'm not telling you to like them, mind you, but allies will become very scarce, as the Ministry will almost inevitably label Dumbledore and myself lunatics and madmen, paranoid and scared by some phantom, unreal darkness once Voldemort returns. It is the nature of a government to try and limit panic and chaos in its domain, whatever means necessary, and wizard–kind is no different._

_I realise that this will take time. That the road ahead is long, and shrouded in mystery, darkness, and uncertainty. It is a road that will not always take us where we wish to go, and I doubt all of us will live to see it's end. But I know that I, at least, will travel down it, nonetheless. For at my side walks hope. In the face of all that insists I turn back, I will carry on. And I would love nothing more than to have you beside me, when I do. I never felt that true love could be real. But I deeply hope that you will prove me wrong._

_Yours,_

_ Harry_

She put the letter down and stared out into nothingness. A war was coming, and she had just been given the perfect opportunity for her best chance at survival by a fourteen–year–old she had met just a month earlier. Whom she really had developed feelings for. A single, lonely tear rolled down her cheek.

•••

Harry entered the underground chantry in London and made his way down, backpack over his shoulder and trunk bumping down the stairs behind him. He relished in the smell of the place, the scent of home. He threw himself in a couch as soon as he came downstairs and ditched his trunk and pack.

"Is that you, Harry?" he heard his mistress call.

"Yeah," he called back and sighed in relief. "God, I've missed this sofa!"

"You used the rejuvenation glyph," she called again from her study. "What happened?"

"I almost burned to death, but I managed."

"Good."

Harry got up and went to her study to find her poring over ancient hermetic texts. He walked over and kissed the top of her head as he looked over her shoulder.

"**Another** ward?"

"You can never be too careful," she muttered.

"Speaking of which," Harry said with a gleeful tone, "I got Dumbledore to come and place wizarding wards on the chantry. A Fidelius charm, too."

"What is a 'Fidelius charm'?"

"A person is made secret keeper; he or she is the only one who can reveal the location of a place or person to others. Even if others _know_ where it is, they can't find it until the secret keeper informs them, _willingly_. It can't be under torture or truth–serum, or it won't work."

Meerlinda's eyes glinted with sadistic glee.

"What an interesting spell."

"I know," Harry said as he leant down and wrapped his arms around his beloved mistress, "and he's going to cast it on this place and make me the secret keeper. I want to see if the Embrace constitutes as dying to this spell. If the secret keeper dies, everyone who previously knew the information becomes a secret keeper. I'll only tell Dumbledore and you where the chantry is, unless the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is infiltrated because someone killed Dumbledore. And, I'll make sure that they know that the price for staying here is a little blood now and then. You will be their landlady if it comes to that, after all."

Meerlinda kissed her charge on the cheek and nuzzled into him.

"I knew I raised you to be clever."

"You and James were the best mentors I could ever have had. And once Voldemort's gone for good, I can turn my complete, undivided attention to you, Mistress."

"Hmm, what about your girlfriend?"

"I doubt she'll want to have anything to do with me once I become Kindred. Speaking of which, I have to go see Dr Dee," Harry snickered when he realised the rhyme.

"Why?"

"Well, I need to establish myself as a trusted servant for when he takes power," Harry stated. "I think I'd like to become the Scourge of London."

"I thought you wanted to go to New Orleans?"

"I think David can wait a few years until I go see him. Besides, I don't think he'd appreciate a contender for the position of Scourge of New Orleans."

"No, I suppose he wouldn't. When you see Dee, you're allowed to tell him that I'm your domitor. He is, after all, my own childe," Meerlinda drawled out. "How are you handling your hormones?"

"Not well," Harry admitted.

"Then let us go relieve stress, shall we?" she asked with a very seductive smile.

•••

Harry walked through the streets of London, in his usual get–up. He was quite happy to be free of the restricting robes of Hogwarts. He was wearing black jeans, a black Henley and a black blazer. It had been a long time since he had been in London, and especially in normal clothes. But tonight, he had a goal: find Dee, and make his proposition. It proved to be a rather simple task, but Harry was very well aware that it could only be a simple task when Dee wanted to be found. Harry came upon the man in a park in the metropolis of innovation and glass–structures. The teenager sat down on the bench next to the man wearing a black trench coat, sporting his usual shoulder–length, curled hair, as well as black goatee.

"Elder Dee," Harry courteously said with a small smile.

"Harrison," the elder vampire returned with an obviously fake smile. Meerlinda had informed Harry of the elder's inability to express human emotions properly, despite his feelings. "I've been looking for you."

"So I've heard. I would like to hear what you have to say."

"As a ghoul, you're no doubt aware of the fact that Kindred society in London is ruled by a woman by the name of Anne Bowesley, who fancies herself 'Queen'."

"My domitor has informed me of the matter, indeed," Harry confirmed.

"Are you still unable to inform me of their name?"

"She granted me permission to tell you just nineteen hours ago. It is your sire, Meerlinda."

Dee's eyes scrutinised Harry, no doubt searching for a sign of deception.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. She is grooming me for the Embrace as well. Soon, I shall be your neonate broodmate. I hope to get along well."

"As do I," the elder said and held out his hand, which Harry respectfully shook.

"I came here to tell you myself, that I am interested in your quest for princedom, and that Mistress Meerlinda has granted me permission to aid you on my own time."

"She allows you free time?"

"Some. But, I would make one request to you, if I were to help you."

"Which is?"

"I should like to become your scourge."

"Done. I shall be looking forward to your service during my praxis."

"As shall I. What is our first step?"

"I would like you to get a good grasp of her routines, as well as the routines of her ghouls. If I am to usurp her, assassination is the only way. But I cannot do so without an iron–clad reason."

"I suppose the amaranth would suffice?"

"Indeed it would, young one. But I am afraid she seems not to be inclined to the abominable practice."

Harry became quiet as he thought. After a few minutes, he spoke up again.

"I will search London for someone who can help with that. If it proves impossible, you could sire a childe and stake him, then put him in an old Tremere chantry. I spread rumours of a Tremere elder sleeping somewhere in London, and if I can get her to take the bait, and subtly feed her information enough to piece together the location, we can photograph her in the act. It would be enough to depose her, and give you the window of opportunity you need to claim praxis."

Dee looked at the teen with an impressed look.

"I think it could work. And if it doesn't, we can always try something else."

"Exactly."

"Very well, Harrison. I will wait for your next input. I will give you the location once I have picked a chantry suitable for the purpose, if the first plan proves failure."

"Then I will get to work on spreading the rumour. If we're lucky, it might take a couple of weeks for it to take hold."

"Then I bid you _adieu_, and I will put out the word that I am looking for you once my preparations are complete."

"I'm looking forward to serving under your praxis," Harry stood up and bowed lightly to the elder. "Good evening, Elder Dee."

"Good evening, Harrison."

•••

Harry was sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, his hair blond and his eyes blue. He didn't carry the scar anymore either, nor did his face look the same. Amongst all the instructors Meerlinda had acquired for him, the Nosferatu teaching him had been especially adept at teaching him how to appear as someone else. Harry was on a mission, however. Sitting in the corner of the room, talking in hushed voices, sat Briveaux Jacques, a French pure–blood wizard who had moved to England in 1977 to join the Death Eater regime. He hadn't been given the Dark Mark, nor was he even actually a Death Eater, as far as Harry's intelligence had gathered, but he was a kind of ambassador to Voldemort supporters in France. That much, Harry's source could confirm. Harry momentarily thought of Fleur, but pushed the thoughts away. He was stalking his prey, and he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He was talking to a man Harry's spies had named as Amycus Carrow, a Death Eater from the war. Harry listened in, but he heard nothing he found of any use. Just vague mentions of the Dark Lord's return, the time for Mudblood subjugation had come, the usual Death Eater chatter. Harry waited patiently, drinking his beer and reading his book, occasionally sending glances over at the table to spy on the two.

It took half an hour for them to finish, and when they did, Carrow headed towards London, whereas Jacques headed towards Diagon Alley. Harry placed a galleon on the table and closed his book as he stood up to follow. Harry trailed the French wizard through Diagon Alley, and into Knockturn Alley. He followed the man into a small backroad, and witnessed Jacques talking to a woman of less than stellar looks, both in terms of attractiveness and innocence. When they finished, she handed Jacques something wrapped in a cloth, and Jacques headed back towards the opening of the alley. Harry gripped his knife tightly, his hand shaking just slightly with the anticipation of the kill. When the wizard came close enough, Harry silently jumped into the alley, placed his hand over Jacques' mouth, and drove his silver–bladed bayonet into the man's head from the throat. He kept pressing Jacques against the wall, slowing his descent onto the ground to keep it as quiet as possible, and when the corpse had been sat down, Harry pulled out his knife and wiped it off in Jacques' clothing. He sheathed the knife and picked up the cloth–wrapped item, hid it beneath his jacket, and exited the wizarding district in the heart of London.

•••

"Have you guys seen this?" Hermione asked and placed the day's issue of the Daily Prophet in front of Ron, Ginny, Fred and George at Breakfast.

They all looked at it.

_TRAGEDY STRIKES DIAGON ALLEY!_

_The French wizard Briveaux Jacques, sent to England by the French Ministry of Magic to act as a diplomat, was found murdered in Knockturn Alley in the late hours of the night. According to a spokesman from the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the unfortunate man was killed from a stab–wound in the throat, suggesting a knife of fifteen centimetres or more was used to take the life of the wizard. The French Ministry of Magic is outraged, and demands that all available resources be diverted to locating the killer's whereabouts. According to the spokesman, the killer was extremely proficient, most likely a professional assassin, and left no clue as to his or her identity. Eye–witnesses claim that a blond man with blue eyes and a youthful face seemed to be observing the man, and left the Leaky Cauldron tavern at the same time as Briveaux Jacques. If anyone has any insight into the matter, the spokesman says, they should contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as soon as possible._

"A fifteen–centimetre knife or longer?" Ginny stated. "If the killer was a wizard, wouldn't they just have used a spell?"

"Well, maybe it was a squib or something?" Ron pointed out.

"Ron, we know a person who has a fifteen–centimetre knife," Hermione whispered. "It's made of silver."

"You don't mean–" Ginny was about to say.

"That's exactly what I mean. It was Harry who killed that man," Hermione stated. "I'm sure of it."

"Well, maybe he was a Death Eater?" Ron tried again.

"I doubt it," they heard a voice with a French accent behind them, and turned around.

Ron was absolutely shocked, Fred and George less so, and Hermione and Ginny simply glared at the sight of Fleur Delacour.

"What do you want?" Hermione spat.

"'Arry told me to get to know you," she said with dignity. "Zat man was no Deeth Eeter, but 'e was a dark vizard. Rumors about 'is family 'ave been around for decades. 'e must 'ave 'ad some _connectión_ to ze Deeth Eeters, though."

"Harry told you?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, 'e did. 'e left ze school so zat 'e could 'unt down Deeth Eeters. 'e wrote me a letter."

"Why would he do that?" Ginny asked, but the boys were still entranced by Fleur's mere presence.

"Ve 'ave been spending much time together in ze past month. We 'ave started – what do you call it? – dating."

The boys' mouths fell open, and Ginny did grow a few shades redder, but Hermione didn't even flinch.

"Thanks, but we'll ask Harry when he returns. Have a nice day," Hermione said and took her newspaper before she got up and stormed off.

Ginny went back to her breakfast, somewhat seething, and the boys merely stared after Fleur as she practically waltzed away.

•••

Harry sat on a bench, reading his issue of the Daily Prophet, but kept glancing over at the two men having a heated argument in the alley across the street. He was in the same disguise again, and kept his eyes focused just over the edge of his newspaper, trained on the men. Soon, one of them left, and the other sat down in the alley and cursed and crumbled. Harry folded the newspaper and quietly slid his knife inside it. He casually walked across the street, into the alley, and pretended to not grant the angry man another thought. When he came close, however, the man stood up.

"The hell'd you want, ey!?" he asked angrily.

Harry merely relaxed his grip on the newspaper, letting the knife slide out. He swiftly grabbed it, and in one fluid motion dragged it across the man's throat, eliciting only a gargling noise as the man's throat was cut open, revealing his larynx and airpipe. Harry quickly wiped the knife in the man's robes as he passed, before he slid it back inside the newspaper. He kept walking, and eventually disappeared from sight.

•••

Soon, December was nearing its end, and the Yule Ball approached. Fleur, however, felt in no festive mood. Over the month's time in which Harry had been absent from school, no less than twelve murders had happened in places often frequented by wizards, according to the Daily Prophet, all sharing one motif: death by a knife–wound. She felt sick to her core, but she knew that Harry had warned her about it. War was coming, and this was how it started. Fleur had been looking forward to seeing him again, but she was worried about how he would look to her, after twelve reported (and more suspected) assassinations had occurred amongst British wizards and witches in December alone. She knew it was him. He had explicitly told her it was what he was going to do in his letter. But that was no more comfort than the times she had needed to rush to the bathroom to relieve her stomach of her breakfast after witnessing the photographs in the newspapers of what Harry had done. The killings had gradually become more and more brutal, and several Slytherins had been taken home by wives now widowed, the students now fatherless.

Slytherins had become paranoid, and no one knew why exactly it seemed to be exclusive to the Slytherin house. Only Fleur, Hermione, the Weasleys and several members of the staff (definitely including Snape and Karkaroff) knew why; every single victim had been linked to Death Eater activity in the past, or had been suspected of it. Fleur knew from history what Voldemort's forces had done in the past, what horrors they had committed. But she still felt dirtier and dirtier with every murder Harry committed, and it had become so bad that she had scrubbed her skin of her cheeks and neck red several times in the shower, trying to rinse off where Harry had kissed her.

She had shed tears over it, and none of her schoolmates knew what to do about it. But Fleur had abstained from the behaviour the past few days. The Yule Ball was the following night, and she couldn't afford to look weak in front of the whole of the three schools present.

And finally, the night of the Ball arrived, and Fleur had just gotten ready. She stood in the Entrance Hall, her heart sinking heavily at the realisation that Harry wouldn't make it. She would just have to straighten her back, and walk in alone, head held high and pride intact. Or…

"Miss me, darling?" came the sensual voice in her right ear, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

She felt a gentle hand on the small of her back, a comforting touch, and she opened her bright blue eyes to see Harry's emerald green ones looking into hers. On his lips was that same smile which drew her in in the first place. Before she could think, she placed her hands on his cheeks and pulled herself against him, their lips moving fervently and passionately. Harry wrapped his arms around her midsection and deepened the kiss. All the sickness she had felt the past days disappeared, and she almost melted into him. Her _lover_. Harry broke off the kiss and leant a little back. His eyes roamed her head and her body, taking in the sight.

"I must've died and gone to Heaven, because you look positively angelic tonight," he muttered breathily in French, and gently touched his thumb to her chin.

Fleur's breathing picked up, as did her heartrate. He could affect her in ways no other had ever been able to, and it excited her.

"You must have gone to Hell instead," she replied, "because you look devilishly handsome."

It was true, he really did. He wore a completely black suit of fine silks and cottons, shiny black oxfords and belt, finished with polished steel cufflinks, as silver would have been hard to wear without making someone, especially he himself, uncomfortable. His hair was recently styled, being short on the sides and textured on the top. He was, altogether, very handsome, and Fleur felt a spark of desire inside her.

"I trust you're familiar with the dance?" Harry asked her.

"Y–yes," she didn't mean to stammer, but his very presence did something to her.

"Good," Harry smirked. "I plan on spending as much time with you tonight as possible."

"Champions, take your positions!" they both heard the stern voice of McGonagall, and the champions did as asked.

People everywhere started whispering when they caught a glimpse of Harry.

"Where've you been?" Cedric leant back and asked in a hushed tone.

"About," Harry replied, his eyes never leaving Fleur, who was happy that her makeup hid her furious blush.

She wasn't used to being the one on the receiving end of such charms, and she wondered if it had something to do with Harry being a werewolf. Just as Cedric was about to ask further, the doors opened, and he stood up straight, not noticing his date, Cho, looking enviously at Harry. The champions waited until the rest of the school's population had entered the great hall, and then marched in. Harry and Fleur both wore stoic expressions, both having received training in formality and etiquette since childhood. They made their way to their designated tables and sat down.

The feast was brief, and neither Harry nor Fleur had anything to eat. Fleur felt unwell sitting next to a murderer, despite knowing that she actually meant a great deal to him, if his letter was true. Harry, on the other hand, had eaten before he came back to Hogwarts, and he could go for two or three days without feeling hunger when he didn't excessively use his lycanthropic abilities. When the feast ended, Harry stood and held his hand out for Fleur to take, with a serene smile on his face. She took it and stood up and followed him onto the dance floor. A band had been hired to play the music, and the first song was of decent tempo and taste, more akin to a sonata by Mozart than a ballad by Metallica, as the appearance of the band seemed to suggest.

Harry and Fleur expertly twirled around, stepping and twisting in tune to the music in perfect synchronisation whilst their eyes never left each other, nor did their smiles falter. They danced on and on, five songs in, when the rest had joined the floor, Harry and Fleur still danced perfectly synchronised to every tune, every beat and rhythm. That was the years of childhood training carrying them through the motions, from Waltz to Tango. Harry and Fleur quickly dominated the dancefloor, and all eyes were on them. They just responded to the music and switched dancing styles. After ten dances, however, Fleur was breathing heavily, her chest heaving as she was leant backwards over Harry's arm holding her up effortlessly. The two stared longingly into each other's eyes, as people around them applauded. Harry then pulled her back upright, not the slightest bit winded compared to Fleur's heavy breathing. And then in front of the whole school, he pulled her close and kissed her with a passion he had never felt before. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned it just as passionately, to the sound of clapping, whistling and cheering. They broke apart, and Harry gently guided her towards a table where they sat down as other people started dancing excitedly.

Harry poured his date and himself a glass of wine, and they both sat in silence and sipped their drinks, constantly sending each other looks Harry would have scoffed at before he met her. When they finished their glasses, Harry stood and guided her out of the great hall, and up the stairs of the castle.

"Where are we going?" she asked longingly. Harry could hear the arousal in her voice.

"Somewhere private," he said, and when they reached the seventh floor, he guided her down an empty hallway, before leaving her in front of a bare wall. He paced past it thrice, much to Fleur's confusion, until she saw a door materialise in the previously solid wall. Harry took her hand and guided her inside.

The room was dark, with the exception of a large fireplace lighting up a portion of it, as well as occasional candles floating in the air above them. There was a large bed with red velvet sheets and pillows. Fleur knew where it was going, and it couldn't come fast enough. She practically assaulted Harry with deep, sensual kisses as she started undoing his tie and shirt. Harry rustled off his jacket and tie and pulled off his shirt. Fleur unbuckled his belt as he reached up and pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders, then gently pulled her dress down. He kicked off his shoes and sat back on the bed to pull off his pants. A soon as they were off, Fleur sat down on his lap, kicked off her heels, and pulled his head to her own, continuing where they left off. Her unoccupied hand roamed his muscled shoulders and chest, as his left hand pulled off his socks while his right caressed her bare back. He then put his arm around her firm posterior and lifted her up whilst scooting back. The couple was soon completely in the nude, their burning hot bodies writhing against one another in a fit of passion neither had ever felt before.

•••

Fleur lay cradled in Harry's arms, her fingers lazily tracing invisible patterns on his chest as his left hand caressed her loosened and tousled hair and his right hand rested on her elbow. Neither wanted to ever leave that bed, but Harry knew that he had to. Voldemort and those who supported him were out there, and he had a war to win. And as he had spent his days at Hogwarts, it had occurred to him that he fought it, not only for himself, but for the wizarding world as well. He had mocked Crouch for the very idea that he cared for anyone but himself and his revenge, but it had been a lie, even then. And in his arms, he had come to realise, was the strongest reason he wanted to defeat Voldemort. Avenging his parents had become the second most important reason.

"When will you leave again?" Fleur asked in a hoarse whisper. Harry noticed that silent tears were rolling down her face and onto his chest.

"In a few hours, at the latest," Harry said, and kissed the top of her head. "I think I'm correct in assuming that you've begun reading the Daily Prophet."

"You are."

"I'm sending a message," Harry calmly explained. "I know how you felt, sitting next to me at the table."

"How could y–"

"'I'm sitting next to a murderer. A monster. A beast.' Something like that, am I right?"

Fleur was quiet, but nodded, her eyes closing and pushing out a few more tears.

"But that's the reality of war, Fleur," Harry said, and she noticed that his voice wavered just the slightest bit. "It all starts somewhere, and this is how the Second Wizarding War is going to start. Last time, we were on the receiving end, and it was only when Voldemort somehow was defeated when he attacked me that we didn't lose it. They were winning, Fleur, winning big. And Voldemort had, and still has his sights on not just Britain, but the whole world. Even if you decide to want nothing to do with me and my efforts to stop him, he will eventually expand to France, if I fail. But don't think I enjoy it, Fleur. I'd rather have lived in a world free of Voldemort, growing up a normal wizard with my parents, maybe see you and admire you in the tournament from afar. I would have been a nobody, and it would have been quiet and lovely. I'd get to grow up, get a job, get married, have children, then die of old age amongst family. But I don't have a family, and I will never die of natural causes."

"You might just have started one," Fleur whispered in his ear, with a small, weak smile as she felt the result of his love slowly drip out of her.

"Unlikely, but maybe," he admitted.

Fleur quieted and laid her head back on his chest.

"I wouldn't mind it."

"I'm just fourteen, and you're just seventeen. I think taking things slowly would be best. That said, there's nothing I would love more than to grow old with you, and have children, grandchildren… but if I survive this war, I'll have to leave, all the same."

"Why?"

"I'm a monster. No matter what, there will be wizards who'll want to see me dead. I may go down in history as the hero who saved the wizarding world from Voldemort, but it will be as a beast who fought on the side of good for his own personal revenge for the murder of his parents, not as a man who stood up for his convictions and those who were too weak to fend for themselves."

"Is that how you want to be remembered?" she sat up, the sheet gliding off her body. "As the lesser of two evils?"

"I am the lesser of two evils, Fleur. It's how I was raised, and that can never be undone. I have the natural instincts of a killer, and I will be haunted by that for as long as I try to lead a civilian life. I will imagine danger where there is none, fight the unreal. I would be a danger to people around me. There are still things I need to do before I can kill Voldemort. And I have no way of finding him. So I have to lure him out."

"So those killings this month…"

"They were bait. All of them affiliated with Death Eaters, either by being members of the old regime or active supporters."

"The Jacques family is notorious in Paris for being dark wizards, or at least close to it. Did you know that?"

"I didn't," Harry admitted, "but I knew that Briveaux Jacques served as a line of communication between the Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters in France. He also arranged for the transport of blood–purists into the country to be recruited as Death Eaters in the first war."

"They do that?" Fleur asked, laid back down and looked up at his face. Her eyes were red and swollen, and some of her makeup had been coming off for a while, especially her mascara considering her tears and sweat.

"They did, and I suspect they're going to start doing it again," Harry confirmed. "They had operations like that with Germany, Spain, Italy, Portugal, and Poland as well, as far as I've been able to uncover. I still haven't found those 'ambassadors' yet, though, so nothing's certain. So, thus far, I've eliminated one of six potential influxes of new Death Eater candidates. I need as many preemptive strikes as I can get."

Harry looked at the clock hanging above the fireplace. It was almost two at night. He kissed Fleur and stood out of bed, not bothering to cover his modesty. He walked over to the fire and stuck his hand in it, barely flinching. He held it there for twenty seconds, before he pulled it out and walked back to Fleur. He held out his arm as the burn marks slowly receded to a state before he had burnt himself. Soon, there was nothing left except the soot.

"This is why I will be feared," he said as his eyes started glowing yellow in the dim light of the room. "I may be slightly human still, but no one would be able to tell. I am a creature of destructive urges. Mating," he gestured at Fleur, "killing, maiming, hunting. I'll never be able to let it go. It's part of me."

"And I will be fine with it," Fleur said and stood up from the bed as well. "I can live with whatever it is you fear will drive me away, Harry."

She walked around the bed and up to him, and pressed herself against him, her red eyes looking up into his glowing yellow ones.

"If you have to be a killer, then I will find a way to deal with that! You don't kill people who don't deserve it, after all!"

"It's not that simple," he said calmly, though his eyes told a different story as to his emotional state. "I'm not fully human, nor fully a werewolf. There is a third part to me."

"What is that?"

"I'm part vampire as well. And when all this is done, I'm becoming a full–fledged vampire. I will have to feed on the blood of the living, and I can't casually differentiate between God–fearing motorcycle clubs, and Devil–worshipping biker gangs. I will have to feed off innocent people as well."

Fleur almost took a step back, but she quickly reconsidered, and snaked her arms around his neck.

"I'll deal with it. Just don't leave me."

Harry felt a lone tear push out of his eye, roll down his cheek and fall onto her shoulder. Harry returned the embrace, the embrace of his lover.

•••

Harry walked through the castle along with Fleur at five in the morning. Neither had gotten much sleep, though Harry was far less affected by it when compared to Fleur, who looked ready to nod off any second. The Room of Requirement had graciously provided a rather lovely bath for them, comparable to the Prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor, even. They walked hand–in–hand, dreading having to part minutes later. They walked outside into the dark morning, filled with snow. Harry gave Fleur his jacket, which she graciously accepted. He walked her back to the Beauxbatons carriage, where she turned her head to look at him longingly. He nodded, as did she, and she walked inside. They had said their goodbyes. Harry turned around and headed towards the gate to the castle grounds.

"Harry!"

Said boy turned to see Ginny, Hermione and Ron come storming towards him.

"Hey," he said calmly, only to be slapped hard by Ginny, much to everyone's surprise. Of course, it did little but leave her hand stinging. She was a thirteen–year–old girl, after all, and not one who trained her strength, or martial arts. "What?"

"You kissed her!" she exclaimed loudly, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You and I aren't in a relationship, Ginny," Harry said calmly. "I can kiss whoever I want. And you just made me break my promise to your father."

"Why did you keep it, anyway!? You just stopped talking to us!"

"That's the nature of a promise, Ginny," Harry said as if he were explaining first–grade calculus to Albert Einstein.

"But you don't have morals, why did you do it!?"

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I do have morals. I don't hit children. I don't rape. I don't steal unless I absolutely have to. I don't kill those who don't deserve it. You know, basic stuff."

"But you kill! That means you're basically a rogue, right!?"

"No, it means I'm a killer," Harry deadpanned. "Not all rapists are killers, just as not all killers are rapists. You don't call a thief a murderer, just as you don't call an adulterer a smuggler."

"Ginny, calm down!" Ron shouted.

"Shut up, Ronald!" she turned and yelled back, but when she turned around to scream at Harry again, her face was struck with a mild slap.

"That's no way to treat your brother," Harry said coldly. "He's your family, and there's just one of him. Cherish him while you can," Harry turned around and climbed over the gate in seconds. "He might be gone one day."

With that, Harry walked down the forest gravel road, hands in his pockets. Ginny put her hand to her cheek, where Harry had slapped her, and tears started welling up in her eyes, until the dam burst, and she turned to run back to the castle, crying her eyes out. Ron and Hermione looked at each other with the same expression, one that said 'what on Earth is going on?'

Spreading Rumours

Harry sat calmly in the large, extravagant hall, dressed in a tuxedo and looking like a dapper gentleman. He was seated next to his mistress, known to the Kindred of London as Linda Watson. Harry was quiet and stoic, but sat with his back straight and looking alert, attentive, as a proper ghoul vassal should. His eyes scanned the crowd, making sure that he had a decent grasp on the other Kindred and their ghouls. Queen Anne had decided to hold Elysium on New Year's Eve, so as the fireworks were blasting off in the distance, the Kindred were mingling, some accompanied by their ghouls. Linda sat and looked somewhat bored. She had attended the ball for Harry so that he could observe and mingle. What she didn't do for him. But it worked to her advantage, as well. If Dee was to claim praxis, she could walk openly and attend her own aims and goals. And she wanted Harry to be successful in his Kindred life. Harry leant over and whispered in her ear.

"Can you see Bowesley?"

She nodded and gestured at a woman standing amongst a group of Kindred. She did seem somewhat… mild, to Harry, at first. At only five feet tall, Queen Anne was small with delicate features and chestnut hair tied in a bun. Casual observers would likely mistake Anne for an elegant and well-heeled matriarch. But Harry knew better, and saw a confident and powerful woman. She caught his eyes staring at her, and he quickly diverted them. He thought it would be best not to arouse suspicion, but he cursed himself internally when she came over to them at their table.

"Good evening," she said to Meerlinda with a courteous tone. "You haven't been in London for long, no?"

"Linda Watson," Meerlinda greeted. "And no, I haven't. My ghoul and I arrived just a few nights ago. I was hoping to take this time to introduce myself, and ask you permission to establish a haven in the city. My ghoul is originally from here, and I was intrigued by the things he had to tell me of the place."

"I'm sorry, when did you live here?" Queen Anne then turned to Harry, who feigned fear and not daring to look at her, in the hopes of deceiving her.

"I, uhm… I was, uh, born in Surry, in 1745. Me father, Vernon, he sent me here to, ah, work in a factory."

"I see," she nodded thoughtfully. "And how did you come to serve Linda Watson?"

"My foreman, he, eh, sold me off. To a ship's captain as, ah, a moneyboy. I met Mistress Linda in France, in 1761."

"A moneyboy?" Queen Anne seemed sceptical. "Well, you certainly do clean up nicely." She turned to Meerlinda. "Would you mind if I had a conversation with your ghoul?"

Meerlinda looked between Harry and Anne, then shook her head.

"Marvellous," Queen Anne said and took Harry by the arm. "Come on…"

"Er, Harrison. Harrison Evans."

"Harry, then."

Harry didn't have to fake the swallow that came from his throat, as she dragged him off. She took his arm, and he acted like he was stumbling to perform as a gentleman should.

"So, Harry. Do you find me beautiful? I saw you staring at me."

"Er, yes, my Pri– ah, Lady Anne. I find you, e–very, beautiful."

"Why thank you!" she said with a fake appreciation. "I must say, you are quiet the dashing young man yourself. Of course, appearance–wise."

"Eh, of course."

Harry thought his charade was going well, but he had the feeling Queen Anne saw right through it.

"So, has your mistress been busy teaching you our ways and customs, or are you merely a toy to satisfy her?"

"I, er, I'm her bodyguard, and uh, yeah, she's been teaching me the, er, customs."

"So of course you could dictate me the third Tradition, no?"

"It's the, ah... Accounting, rig– no wait... Progeny?"

"Exactly," Queen Anne said, and stopped Harry as they stood on the balcony overlooking a smaller district of London. "You don't strike me as the type of ghoul who would have trouble remembering things, however," her eyes narrowed. "Nor do you seem like you would truly be so frightened as to not speak properly. Stop acting, Harry."

Harry stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, but then he calmed down considerably.

"Very well. If you insist, Queen Bowesley."

"Much better. Now, did she actually pick you up in France in 1761?"

"No, she didn't. She found me in Constantinople in 1488, in Galata."

"And were you a moneyboy?"

"No. I was an apprentice shipbuilder. If you see an Ottoman ship in a museum from that time–period, I most likely worked on it."

"Impressive. And of course you can perfectly recite the Traditions, can't you?"

"Masquerade, Domain, Progeny, Accounting, Hospitality and Destruction."

"Perfect. And you know that I'm not to be trifled with."

"You're a Ventrue, and you were seneschal to Prince Mithras for some of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, until he disappeared in World War II."

"Very good," she nodded. "Now, if I were to offer you to become my ghoul instead, and I have Linda hand you over, would you accept it?"

"Depends on the deal you're willing to give me," Harry said, his eyes and face cold. "I'm only in service to Mistress Linda when she calls for me. Until she does, I can do as I please."

"I would be willing to give you the same deal, but I can do you one better," she muttered and leant close, her lips right next to his ear. "How would you like to be the first ghoul Scourge of London?"

She stood closely, pressed against him. He was quiet as he thought it over, then stiffly nodded. Queen Anne smiled and then licked his earlobe seductively.

"I think you and I are going to get along just fine," she whispered again. "Come meet me here when you're released from Linda's service and have packed your belongings. I'll make sure you receive a **very** _warm_ welcome."

She then unlatched from him and proudly walked away. Harry felt the need to smoke a cigarette, so he pulled one out from his pocket and lit it up. He placed his hands on the smooth stone railing, and looked out over the city. He smoked two cigarettes before Meerlinda came out to see him.

"What are you thinking!?" she hissed at him. "You said you'd never leave!"

"It's an update of the plan," Harry calmly stated. "At first, I was just hoping to be able to get to know some of her ghouls. But if I can get close to her, personally, the proceedings would go much quicker and smoother, and she's agreed to have me be the scourge."

"A ghoul scourge!?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Using that position, I can get a better look at what really goes on in London's underground, and especially with her and her holdings. She also says that I'm 'off the clock' until she needs me to do something. If she tries to back out, I'll run. She can neither enter, nor even find the chantry. Dumbledore made me the secret keeper, and I have no intention of telling her where it is."

Meerlinda looked at Harry for a little while, clearly angry with him.

"Fine," she finally relented.

"Good," Harry said and scanned the crowd for anyone watching them. When he found none, he chastely kissed her on the cheek. "I'll take care of myself."

Meerlinda nodded solemnly, and then went back inside to tell Queen Anne of her decision. Harry turned back to the view of the city, and considered this change in his plans. How he could benefit from it, and how he would make sure to be at Hogwarts for the other tasks. His mind then wandered to Fleur, and especially their night together at the Yule Ball. He wanted so desperately to hold her in his arms again. But he was a soldier in a war much bigger than himself. He had to make sacrifices, and he would.

He heard the quiet footsteps of Queen Anne return, surprising since she was wearing heels and an immaculate red dress, which fit her just right, and wearing a shawl over her exposed shoulders. She walked behind Harry, who tensed up when her finger ran across his back, downwards and then placed her hand on his left buttock. She gave it a firm squeeze.

"That was quick," she drawled out.

"Linda Watson is a Kindred quick to make up her mind," Harry said stoically.

"Well, since you're mine, I suggest you follow me."

She turned and walked off, and Harry begrudgingly followed. She led him from the ballroom and into a large, lavish bedroom with a king–sized bed and four women, all presumably ghouls, waiting. Queen Anne led Harry to the bed and pushed him down on it. With a snap of her fingers, the four ghouls immediately undressed, and crawled onto the bed with him.

_I'm sorry, Fleur_.

He let the ghouls unclothe him as Queen Anne retreated behind a screen where two additional ghouls waited to undress her as well. One of the handmaidens, Harry presumed, sat on her knees on the floor in front of him, between his legs. He drew in a sharp breath of air as the clearly experienced woman went to work on him, and as the other women caressed his muscles, kissed his neck, ran their fingers through his hair. He knew exactly what this was; it was a favour to make him much more pliable to do as she ordered him. The promise of bliss for good services rendered. Soon, the prince of London stepped out from behind the screen wearing nothing but an open silk robe. The ghouls grabbed him and dragged him further up on the bed as the one between his legs let go of him. Queen Anne then crawled up on the bed and positioned her own pelvis on his, and started grinding their hips against one another. She felt warm to the touch, but not overly so, just like Meerlinda. Soon, the scent of vitae reached his nose, and she lifted herself up before guiding him into her, with a sigh of guilt–ridden pleasure escaping his mouth, which was swiftly occupied by a servant.

•••

Harry walked down the street of Diagon Alley at night, disguised with brown hair and brown eyes this time, and wearing black jeans, a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and a utility jacket over that. He headed down into Knockturn Alley, and stuck close to the walls, his eyes averted from anyone passing him. He made it into a small, dirty bar which was known for selling drinks with illegal ingredients. Ingredients from endangered magical beasts, which made the bar frequented by rich, dark families. He walked over and sat in a corner. Without anyone noticing, he silently conjured and placed a pre–prepared a bundle of C4 under his seat and armed it. He then walked over to the bar counter.

"I'd like a Unicorn's Blood, please," he muttered.

The bartender sized him up, and then went to mixing the drink. It didn't contain actual unicorn's blood, but it did contain a little dragon's blood, a dissolved solution of unicorn horn, some Firewhiskey, and a few drops of Skele–Gro. Whilst it might have seemed like an arbitrary mix, it actually went well together, and it had the added bonus of increased vitality and bone–repair, for those who had recently been in an accident. Harry accepted the drink and placed four galleons on the counter, which the bartender gladly took and placed in the registry. Harry sipped the drink slowly, making sure to not seem anymore suspicious than any other wizard or witch in there. When he was done, he placed the glass back on the counter and went to the loo. He then made sure no one was in there when he planted the other bundle of C4. He then left the pub, but he threw the last bundle inside, making sure the blast was spread equally around the bar. He then pressed the detonator in his pocket, and the bar blew up right as he rounded a corner. He walked away, his face calm and unflinching.

•••

Fleur put down the Daily Prophet with a heavy heart. Eleven witches and wizards killed in an explosion in Knockturn Alley the previous night, no survivors. She rubbed her eyes, but she knew what was going on. Harry had even directly told her. It was war, and war had casualties. Students were being pulled out of school, their parents wanting them home and safe. Of course, Fleur realised, that would be a counterintuitive effort, as nowhere was as safe as Hogwarts, apparently. Mostly Slytherins were being taken out of school, but a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well. She looked up at the staff table, and saw Dumbledore read the news as well. He did seem tired, looking at the picture of the destroyed and burning building. He rubbed his own eyes as well, and McGonagall next to him seemed saddened. Fleur then looked over at the Gryffindor table, and saw the Weasleys and Hermione gathered around an issue, all pale as sheets. Hogwarts, it seemed, was losing it's population at a rather swift rate, and it's morale as well.

•••

Harry sat down in an office, across from Queen Anne.

"So, how are things in my domain?" she asked with a small smile. "It's been a month since you took your office, I hope the time has been well–spent acquainting yourself with the order of the night."

"Things are as they have been when I first became scourge, my Lady," Harry said and bowed his head. "There are rumours going around that a Sabbat pack has come to London, and I am having the Sheriff validating the rumours as we speak. If they turn out to be true, I will request that you lend me the Sheriff and his hounds to go take them down."

"Well done, Harry," she drawled. "I expected no less from such an old ghoul."

"Thank you, my Lady. There is a matter which has come to my attention, though."

"What is it?"

"A member of my family, a descendant of my late brother's, has fallen terminally ill. He is expected to perish somewhere between now and March. I should like to attend his funeral in Scotland when the time comes."

"I thought your former domitor found you in Constantinople?" she said with narrowed eyes.

"She did, my Lady. I was born in Swansea, Wales, in 1472. My family was poor, so a friend of my father's took me with him to lessen the strain on my family. I was the oldest, so I had to be the one to go. We arrived on Sicily in 1479, then in Constantinople in 1482."

"And yet, you still desire to attend this estranged family's funerals?"

"They might have sent me away, but they're still family."

"Well, I was under the impression you were an emotionless killer."

"I never said I wasn't a good killer," Harry commented. "But family is the greatest concept in which I hold belief."

She scrutinised him for a few minutes.

"Fine. Let me know when it happens."

"Of course," he said with a nod, then stood up from the chair and turned to leave the room.

"And Harry?"

He stopped and turned around.

"If I learn you abuse your position so close to me… I suspect you have an inkling of what will happen to you," she said with a sweet smile.

Harry was acutely aware of the threat to his life if she knew he was spreading rumours of her as a diablerist. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and a cold shiver run down his spine. He thought she might be well–versed in using her very presence as a tool, seeing as she was a Ventrue, but this sensation, he suspected, was merely an actual fear towards her, entirely natural and on his part. He nodded and left the room.

•••

Harry walked down the streets of London, enjoying the fresh night air of January from under his short winter coat. The snow lay thickly on the ground, and he wondered how beautiful Fleur would look in the snow, illuminated only by the light of the full moon, her hair shining as brightly as the snow. Her deep, blue eyes looking longingly into his own, and her smile at seeing him. He felt a vice around his heart as he walked down the street, his mind resting on Fleur. A small, sad smile crept onto his lips, and a single tear left his eye, but he quickly wiped it away. He walked until he reached a certain pub, where he would meet a contact who claimed to have incriminating evidence on Anne. Harry looked around, made sure no one was looking, then withdrew his wand and looked into the reflection of a darkened window, using it as a mirror whilst he began transfiguring his appearance. His vampiric disguises could be pierced with sharp enough senses, but if there was no obfuscation to pierce, they couldn't glean his true appearance. When he felt like it was good enough, with light brown hair, brown eyes, no scar, and a changed facial structure, he entered the pub.

He looked around, and found a black man sitting in a booth by himself, his eyes trained on Harry. Harry walked over and sat down across from him. They spent a full minute in silence, sizing each other up and down.

"Monty Coven, I presume," Harry nodded at the Jamaican.

"Harrison Evans," Coven retuned the nod.

"I understand that you have evidence of a certain someone's less–than–legal activities."

"I do."

"Mind showing it?"

Coven pulled a few photographs out of his pocket and placed them on the table. Harry picked them up and studied them closely. They were stills of footage, and clearly depicted Anne drinking of a vampire, until the last still showed a cloud of ash where the vampire had been. Harry looked up at Coven.

"What do you want in return for a copy of the footage?"

"You don't want the original footage?" Coven asked with a disturbing grin.

"It doesn't matter if it's the original or not," Harry stated. "Just that I have it. Name your price."

Coven's grin widened a little.

"Three boons."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I have a few conditions."

"Such as?"

"I will not do anything harmful or lethal, whether physically, verbally, psychologically or politically against people I know and care about. If you recorded this conversation, delete any and all evidence of it. If you have people here watching us, make sure they don't talk. Don't mention this to anyone. And please, try to leak just a little about the Prince's activities here and there. Spread it slowly."

"Seems fair enough."

"Then it was a pleasure doing business with you," Harry said and stretched out his hand.

"Same," Coven said and shook the teen's hand.

Coven then reached into another pocket and pulled out a CD in a case. Harry accepted it and placed it in his inner pocket.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Harry asked.

"Certainly, but a pint of vitae is quite expensive here."

"Money isn't an issue," Harry said as he waved over a waitress. "Yes, I'd like a scotch, one cube, and a pint of the red, please."

"Sure," the rather young–looking woman said with a flirtatious grin, wink, and a seductive sway in her hips as she walked away, but Harry didn't pay attention to it.

"Seems like you're popular with the ladies," Coven smiled, still quite disturbingly, but Harry ignored that quality.

"I suppose," Harry shrugged, "but I'm already spoken for."

"The first ghoul scourge of London has a girlfriend?" Coven asked, amused.

"Yeah, she's called 'the job'," Harry smirked, a little on guard by the fact that Coven had instantly realised who he was.

"You take your duties very seriously for someone who just bought blackmail material on his domitor and Prince."

"I do quite like my job. I just don't really like my current boss."

"And who would you prefer?"

"Don't know," Harry said as the waitress placed their drinks in front of them, sent Harry a wink, and left. "We'll see who takes office."

"I don't buy it."

"Good thing I'm not selling it, then," Harry smirked and took a sip of his scotch, making Coven smile a bit wider.

"How interesting," the Jamaican muttered before taking a sip of the vitae.

"I know. I think we could be successful business partners again, sometime."

"We'll see."

The Second Task

February 24th arrived, and Fleur stood outside by the lake, wearing a light, satin robe over her silver swimsuit. Cedric Diggory wore a pair of black trunks and a yellow muscle shirt with the Hogwarts crest on it, and Viktor Krum wore red trunks with a beige muscle shirt with the Durmstrang crest on it. The task was about to begin, and Harry was nowhere to be seen. She was getting worried that something might have happened to him. Dumbledore paced in front of the champions. Only two minutes until the task started.

"Sorry I'm late!" a familiar voice called out, and everyone turned to see Harry come running towards the gathered schools.

"Good of you to join us, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said with relief.

Harry quickly pulled off his jacket, shirt, shoes and pants to reveal the same uniform for the task Cedric wore, only red being exchanged with yellow. He also had a sheath with his wand on his left leg, and a sheath with a military–issue knife of stainless steel on the other. He walked over next to Cedric, and sent Fleur a small wink and smile. Not a single one of the students seemed happy that he was there, not even the Weasleys, though it was apparent to Harry why that was; both Ron and Hermione were missing. Fleur, though, smiled at him. She had missed him. Cedric smiled as well, and clapped Harry on the shoulder, a gesture which Harry returned.

"Champions!" Dumbledore called out. "Something has been taken, something which must be retrieved. You have one hour to retrieve it, or you will have failed the task and the object will be lost. You may begin when the cannon fires!"

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a green substance looking like seaweed. He then stuffed it in his mouth and chewed it thoroughly, before swallowing. He then stood quietly, until the cannon fired. All the champions walked into the water and dove into it. Harry felt the rather uncomfortable transformation of his fingers and feet, gaining webbing and fins for feet. He also grew gills, allowing him to breathe underwater. Harry absolutely disliked being submerged in water, and the gills did take some time to get used to, but he was otherwise fine. He started swimming, going out to the point where the lake took a steep decline, and he dove down. Fortunately, he had also been granted the inner organ regulating pressure in marine life. If it hadn't been for the fact that he had vaguely remembered a short conversation with Neville about gillyweed, he would have been miserably unable to compete. He could hold his breath for long, and he could use magic to enhance his body's ability to burn oxygen more slowly, but he would have to remain stationary to do so.

He saw perfectly in the darkness of the water, thanks to his glowing yellow eyes. Harry noticed that he had left the other champions behind, but he felt no need to seek them out. It was a tournament, after all. He swam for minutes, though it certainly did seem like hours. He then came across something he never though he would see: a small village of houses with front lawns and merpeople going about their daily lives, almost like humans would. They even had grindylows on leashes like dogs, and fences made of stone. He was utterly fascinated by the colony, but shook his head. He had to focus. He saw a merperson close by, though he was unable to identify which gender it was. He swam over.

"Do you know where the hostages are?" he tried to ask, but only bubbles and indistinguishable sounds came out of his mouth.

The merperson looked at Harry with apprehension, their skin greyish, eyes yellow, and their teeth crooked and broken in places. Harry sighed, releasing another stream of bubbles, and then turned and swam on. He soon saw a large figure of stone resembling a merman. At least, that's what Harry thought it was supposed to resemble. And tied to the (presumed) tail, he distinctly made out the shapes of four humans. He started kicking towards them with renewed vigour. He soon noticed the mermen surrounding the hostages, and he stopped, his narrow eyes scrutinizing them. His hand moved towards his knife, and when he pulled it, they made no move against him. He started carefully swimming towards the hostages, and none stopped him. So he easily cut the string of seaweed holding Ron tied to the statue's tail. He then noticed that the others were Cho Chang, a fifth year Ravenclaw who accompanied Cedric to the Yule Ball, Hermione (likely for Krum), and a small girl with silver–blond hair who was definitely Fleur's sister, eleven–year–old Gabrielle.

Harry was a little worried, if he were honest. He decided he wouldn't leave until he made sure every hostage was out of the water. The mermen guarding the captives did seem somewhat confused, but didn't press it. Harry noticed a form approaching in the distance, and soon it became apparent that it was Cedric. He swam somewhat slowly, though Harry did have fins for feet and superhuman leg–strength, so he did have a significant speed advantage. Cedric came close, and Harry noticed the bubble around his head, distorting and twisting his face.

He mouthed something, and being perfectly able to read lips, he saw 'Got lost, Krum and Fleur are coming'. He then pulled out a small knife from his pocket and cut the bonds keeping Cho, before making his way to the surface. Harry, however, was aware of the possibility that one of them didn't make it. Soon, Krum came by, and Harry snorted, bubbles blowing out of his nose, when he saw the crude transfiguration Krum had performed on his own head. It had become that of a shark, barely, and he used his new teeth to try and sever the seaweed.

"Idiot!" Harry called out, and Krum turned to him.

Harry started performing actual international sign language, but Krum shook his head, not understanding it one bit. Harry sighed, then pointed at Krum's teeth, at the seaweed, then crossed his arms. He then pointed at the shark teeth, then at Hermione's legs, and then made a 'thumbs up'. In short, 'your teeth are fucking useless for anything not made of flesh and bone, you fucking idiot'. Krum shrugged.

"Fucking Hell!" Harry bubbled out, and pulled his knife from it's sheath and handed it to Krum.

Krum accepted it and cut Hermione's bonds before handing the knife back, taking Hermione by the waist, and pulling her up.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harry bubbled a mutter to himself.

He looked at his watch. The time was almost up, as was the time of the duration of the gillyweed. Harry, before any of the mermen could react or do anything about it, pulled his knife, cut Gabrielle's bonds, and then sheathed his knife before pulling out his wand and pointing it at the mermen, who pointed their spears at him. Harry put on his face reading 'I will fucking hex you if you don't get out of my way', and the mermen actually seemed very frightened of his wand. He snaked his arms into those of the two captives, and then started kicking for the surface, and he felt the gillyweed starting to lose it's effects. He had to fight a little to reach the surface, but his superior leg power was enough to get him up before he ran out of oxygen. He took shallow breaths, and exhaled shallowly to avoid shallow water blackout, and made sure that Gabrielle was mostly above water, since she seemed to try and doggie paddle. She clearly wasn't an Olympic medallist, that was certain. Ron swam just fine, even though he was weighed down somewhat by his robes.

"You good?" Harry called at his best friend.

"I'm good, mate," Ron returned. "Thanks, though."

"Always."

Harry then pulled the slightly panicking Gabrielle onto his back and placed her arms around his throat, carrying her on his back as the pair swam back towards the lakeside.

"Don't worry," he spoke to her in French. "I've got you. You're safe, no need to panic."

Gabrielle just nodded and held onto him for dear life. Harry kept a reassuring hand on her arms whilst he swam, and kept talking to her in French, trying to keep her calm. She did seem to relax over the course of the swim back to shore, and when Harry could touch ground, he pried her off, ducked under the surface, and placed his head between her legs so he was carrying her on his shoulders, like parents so often did with their young kids. Gabrielle blushed heavily, but couldn't stop smiling as Harry walked with her on his shoulders. Fleur stood and watched with tears of joy as she saw her lover carrying a perfectly fine Gabrielle back onto shore. She came walking towards them as Harry knelt down so Gabrielle could climb off. He was surprised when Gabrielle quickly spun around and threw her arms around him.

"Thank you, monsieur! Thank you!" she kept saying, her arms wound tightly around his neck.

Harry merely returned the embrace with a chuckle.

"How could anyone leave such a beautiful princess at the bottom of a lake?" he asked when she let go, and lightly touched his index finger to her nose, making her giggle and pull back to clutch her sister.

"Thank you, Harry," Fleur breathed with red, swollen eyes and a sad smile. "Thank you so much."

"It was the least I could do," he muttered as she pulled him into an embrace as well, one he passionately returned. When they broke apart, they kissed for a brief moment, and then Fleur took Gabrielle's hand and led her over to Beauxbatons, who were waiting with thick, warm blankets and towels to help dry Gabrielle off. Fleur sent Harry a serene smile, before she turned all her attention to her little sister.

"You staying for long, mate?" Ron asked as he returned, wrapped in a blanket and carrying one for Harry, along with a towel.

"A day or two, a week at most," Harry replied as he graciously accepted the towel and started drying off. "I have other matters to attend to, now."

"Like what?"

"Like making sure war doesn't break out in London," he chuckled.

"I thought you were going to start the war," Ron asked with confusion.

"I am, it's another war entirely I'm trying to prevent. One between two groups of vampires."

"Vampires?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "My guardian's one, and her blood was used in the same ritual that made me part werewolf."

"You're part vampire, too!?"

"Yeah, but keep that to yourself and your family. And Hermione."

"Yea, sure mate," Ron said and handed Harry the large blanket after he had dried off enough. "I just miss having you around, you know?"

"I know," Harry smiled at his best friend. "I feel the same. But in war, you have to make personal sacrifices. And since I'm at the lead of this war, being the only one Voldemort couldn't kill, I will have to make the most."

"What'd you mean?"

"He's going to go after everyone I care about. He's going to have the news and Ministry slander me, brand me a liar, an outcast, even a terrorist if it's ever discovered I'm the one killing Death Eaters and affiliates."

"Hey, that pub…" Ron hesitated, but Harry knew what he meant.

"I spent almost a month staking it out, noting who went in and who left, when and how long they were there. I waited until there were only Death Eaters or Death Eater associates in there. I may be a killer, but I don't hurt innocent bystanders."

"Even the bartender?"

"Rumours swarmed that he helped hide Death Eaters when they were cornered in Diagon Alley. Of course, I couldn't confirm it, but there were others; he peddled in information on Ministry officials and resistance fighters of the last war, smuggled illegal contraband of cursed objects used by Death Eaters, the like. He was a really bad guy, no matter which of them are true."

"Right," Ron nodded. "It's war. I don't know about war, but I trust you."

"And that's a better gift than anything you could have bought me for any sum of money in the world," Harry said and placed an arm around Ron's shoulder. "The only reason I'm telling you this is because I trust you, too."

Ron smiled a little and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders as well.

"What about Fleur?" Ron asked.

"I'll talk to her later," Harry shrugged. "I think she needs some time with Gabrielle."

Ludo Bagman then stepped forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows… Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

There was applause from the schools. Harry looked over and saw Fleur shake her head in defeat. He also read her lips saying 'I deserved zero'.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; Harry saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."

"Well, guess I'm out, then," Harry mused. "If he was over by a minute, I must've been out by a lot."

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points. Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."

Ron gave Harry a half-exasperated, half–commiserating look.

"Most of the judges," Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fibre and merits full marks. However… Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points.

"Shit," Harry muttered with a smile. "All that for being a little worried."

Harry couldn't exactly say he was displeased, though — he was now tying for first place with Cedric, as he had been informed of the scores after the first task. Hermione, caught by surprise, stared at Harry, then laughed and started applauding hard with the rest of the crowd.

"There you go, Harry!" Ron shouted over the noise. "You weren't being thick after all — you were showing moral fibre!"

Fleur was clapping very hard too, but Krum didn't look happy at all. He attempted to engage Hermione in conversation again, but she was too busy cheering Harry to listen.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty–fourth of June," continued Bagman. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

Harry smiled a little. He had a few days to rest at Hogwarts before going back to London, and he would be damned sure that he actually relaxed with his friends. After he went inside to have some hot soup with Ron, of course.

•••

Harry sat beneath the heavy oak tree, with Fleur sitting between his legs in front of him, his arms wrapped around her waist. They just sat there, enjoying each other's company, talking about how things were going.

"It's becoming just a little easier," Fleur muttered with a sombre smile. "Reading the news."

"I'm glad you can deal with it," Harry replied and softly kissed the side of her neck. "Things are heating up in London. If things go according to plan, the vampire ruling the city will be dead and replaced by April or May."

"A vampire controls London?" Fleur asked.

"The vampire population," Harry elaborated. "She does have a few hooks in the muggle world, but they can't help her. When she's gone, I'll be working for the new Prince."

"Doing what?"

"I'll be what you could call the secret police," Harry explained. "I'm the scourge of London under the current Prince, but I'm working to bring her down for another who would become Prince. When he takes office, I'll be his scourge. My job is making sure things are a quiet and peaceful as they can be, and when vampires from another faction moves in on London, I'm the one who has to find them and kill them. You could call them a fanatic, religious cult. There's this legend about the first vampire, and his thirteen grandchilder called the Antediluvians, the vampires created by his progeny. According to myth, they killed their creators and tried to kill him, and now they're sleeping in forgotten tombs around the world. When they wake up, the legend goes, they'll start devouring their spawn, the rest of the vampires in the world. This religious faction calls itself the Sabbat, and they think they're going to be the first vampire's army when he rises to kill the Antediluvians. It's all quite hard to explain."

"Sounds… strange," Fleur admitted.

"You don't need to worry about that. That's my world, one you'll hopefully never have to witness. Death, backstabbing, torture, blackmail, coercion, those are all constants of it. Violence and politics go hand–in–hand."

"That seems awful."

"You get used to it when it's your life. I'm pretty good at it myself, but I don't really think it's something to be proud of. That's what I've been doing for the past months. Other than what you read in the papers."

"You've gotten a lot of students pulled out of Hogwarts with the newspapers. At least one student every week gets taken out of school by their parents, and more than a few Slytherins have been informed that a relative has been killed."

"It's not my fault that the number of Slytherins with Death Eater parents is so high. It's their parents' fault for siding with Voldemort."

"Still," Fleur said. "Every week a Slytherin breaks down in tears at the table when they read the papers."

"I don't care," Harry said slowly. "They chose a side, and now they pay for it. And if I did allow myself to care, I wouldn't be able to do what I have to."

Fleur quieted, as did Harry, who nuzzled Fleur's hair with his face. Fleur leant back and took Harry's hands on her waist, intertwining their fingers.

"I'd like to stay like this forever," she whispered.

"As would I. But we're going to war, and you have to make personal sacrifices at war. This is our sacrifice."

"Then what is your personal sacrifice?" Fleur turned her head and looked at his face, which saddened considerably.

"You. When things heat up, I can't be spending time with you, much to my displeasure. I will have to busy myself with work to destabilise and debilitate Voldemort's forces before he can gain his footing. The sooner his potential forces are gone, the better."

"Which is what you've already been doing," Fleur nodded. "You've been targeting the wizards and witches who fought for him last time, so that his lieutenants would have to spend time recruiting and training new members, which gives the Order and the Ministry breathing room."

"Exactly," Harry smiled. "You're very clever, Fleur. It's one of the things I like the most about you."

"You don't like my looks?" she batted her eyelashes. "You don't like my body, or my face?"

"It's given that I like it," Harry chuckled. "You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your eyes are like the sky on a cloudless noon sky in midsummer. Your hair is like liquid silver, and your lips," he lowered his voice and drew closer to her face, "are the most perfect shade of pale pink I have ever seen," he whispered, and then captured them in a slow, passionate kiss. "But there's so much more to you," he muttered between kisses. "You're smart," kiss. "You're confident," kiss. "You're courageous," kiss. "And you're all–round wonderful," he finished with a deep, long kiss, making Fleur giggle a little into his mouth, in turn making him chuckle just a little.

•••

It was late the evening Harry left Hogwarts, and having already said his goodbyes, he went to see Albus Dumbledore. Harry stood by the griffin statue and listed off all the desserts and sweets he knew, eventually landing on the right one and being allowed to go up. He had quickly realised the pattern the previous year, and as such had spent a great deal of time in Hogsmeade's local candy store during Hogsmeade weekends memorising the names of the various candies. He entered, only to see a very unwanted person talking to the headmaster, a short creature Harry recognised as a house–elf standing behind him and looking nervously at Harry.

"Well, well," the tall, blond man dawdled. "If it isn't the filthy, bestial subject of our discussion."

"Mr Malfoy," Harry replied coolly. "I didn't expect to see a scumbag like you here at this hour."

"Watch your words, Potter," Lucius said threateningly. "I could have you sent to Azkaban on a whim."

"Your view on power is so very narrow, Mr Malfoy," Harry smirked slightly as he walked over to the phoenix and started caressing the gentle bird. "Being on slightly–better–than–average terms with the Minister of Magic is not so much an advantage as you might believe. You could only send me to Azkaban if you could actually catch me, but the Ministry is so inept, a team of Aurors couldn't capture me."

"As I was saying, Lucius," Dumbledore continued, "I have no intention of expelling Harry Potter. He is a good student, and he hasn't once provoked a fight."

"My son tells a different story," Lucius sneered.

"Your son is a papa's boy who can't stand up for himself," Harry snorted. "'My father will hear of this' here, 'My father will hear of this' there, it all gets very repetitive. But I'll tell you something, Mr Malfoy; if you ever do commit to getting me to Azkaban, I will make sure the Malfoy family is stripped of all wealth, status, rights, et cetera. And I will get you exiled from the United Kingdom."

"As if you have such power," Lucius snorted back. "You're a fourteen–year–old boy."

"But I know how to… motivate people, and more importantly, I know how to find the right people to… motivate."

"Harry doesn't make idle threats, Lucius," Dumbledore stated calmly. "I have no doubt he could very well do it, and even I could not stop him."

"Just remember that when you go running to Voldemort, bawling because you utterly failed at doing anything to The Boy Who Lived," Harry finished, but then turned to Dumbledore. "Didn't you have a book, Headmaster? One with a little hole in it?"

Dumbledore eyed Harry suspiciously, but reached into a drawer.

"Indeed I do," the elderly wizard confirmed and placed said diary on the table.

"See, I asked around a little," Harry commented as he picked up the pierced book and rummaged through it. "Turns out, it was placed in Ginevra Weasley's care whilst you were looking at her newly–purchased books. Now, how wouldn't it look if the Investigation Department of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement came to take a look and determine the thing you gave Ginevra Weasley to be a dangerous, dark object?"

Lucius stiffened, and looked at the book.

"It would never hold," he rasped, clearly angry.

"Oh, but Ginevra would of course testify as to what the book did to her," Harry said. "That is, unless we could come to an arrangement."

Dumbledore and Lucius both stared at Harry.

"I hand the book over to you. You can do whatever you want with it. In return, I will never hear a sound from your miserable throat ever again. Deal?"

Lucius stared at the diary, then at Harry. Then he nodded. Harry held out the book, which Lucius took. He turned it over and examined it very shortly, before thrusting it into the hands of his house–elf.

"Dobby," he said sharply and turned around to leave, insinuating that the elf should follow.

Harry smiled at the terrified elf and mouthed 'open it'. Dobby hesitantly did as wordlessly encouraged, and found a sock inside the book. Lucius noticed that his servant wasn't following and turned to see what was happening. His eyes widened as he saw the sock that the elf held.

"Master presented Dobby with a sock," the elf now known as Dobby muttered in delight, his eyes glistening with newfound joy. "Dobby is free."

Lucius looked ready to shit fury, but Harry smirked.

"We had a deal, Mr Malfoy. Now leave."

Lucius' hand was about to draw his wand, his face beet red and his breathing picking up like a bull getting ready to horn someone, but he just turned around with a furious grunt and left the office. Harry smiled at the elf.

"What'd you want to do now? You could look for work with a nice family, or you might work for the school," but Harry then silenced for a little, Dobby staring up at the man who set the elf free with a reverent expression. "Or you could work for me. I'll pay you a decent wage, you won't be punished," Harry gestured to the bandages around Dobby's hands, "and I'll make sure you have a nice, warm bed to sleep in."

"Dobby would be delighted to work for Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby nodded excitedly.

"Then I'd be happy to have you," Harry said and knelt down before the elf, his hand outstretched for Dobby to shake.

Dobby just stared at the hand with a confused expression. Harry chuckled, gingerly took Dobby's right hand, and then placed it in his own, before he gently shook the hand. Dobby looked about ready to burst into tears.

"Dobby has never been treated like an equal, Harry Potter sir," the little elf said with quivering lips. "Harry Potter sir truly is a great wizard."

"A man should not be judged by how he treats his equals, but by how he treats his inferiors," Harry said wisely. "Whilst in the eyes of society, you certainly are beneath me, what people don't consider is how house–elves like you are instrumental in giving them an easy life. All parts of the whole are important, as even a single broken part will break the whole thing. You and your kin are invaluable, Dobby, and I'm more than happy to know that I have you to help me out when I need it."

Dobby actually did start shedding tears, though just a few.

"Dobby will not fail you, Harry Potter sir!"

"And I won't fail you, Dobby," Harry said and gently patted the elf's head. "Now, meet me just outside the gates to the castle in half an hour. I have some things to discuss with the headmaster."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby exclaimed with a smile and 'popped' out of the room.

"When did you place your sock in the diary?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"Vampire magic," Harry said. "I was doing it even before I asked you for it. You just didn't see it."

"And you did this to gain a house–elf?"

"No, I did it to piss off Malfoy," Harry admitted. "It wasn't until afterwards I realised that Dobby would need a place to go."

"Oh, well," Dumbledore muttered, before straightening himself. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"Those documents you sent me about the horcruxes are more detailed than I would have thought. Doesn't mean there's a lot," Harry commented. "Something belonging to Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin… obviously, they're Hogwarts artefacts. But what makes you think nothing of Gryffindors was made into one as well?"

"Because I doubt that the Sword of Godric Gryffindor would be able to contain a piece of Voldemort's soul," Dumbledore said. "Goblin steel only takes on what strengthens it, and repels anything else. It needs not sharpening, nor cleaning. And I do believe it is our greatest weapon against the horcruxes."

"Why?"

"Because the night the diary was destroyed, the sword was used to kill the basilisk, stabbing it through it's head."

Harry was silent.

"It went through the serpent's palate, didn't it?"

"Indeed, it did."

"So the blade pierced the venom glands behind its eyes."

"Right."

"The basilisk venom could destroy the horcrux, and since goblin steel takes on qualities that enhances it… It took on the horcrux destroying quality of the venom, didn't it?"

"I very much believe so."

"Which also means that the sword would have been destroyed if it came into contact with the venom if it was a horcrux, but it didn't, therefore it wasn't a horcrux."

"I think I know a few possible locations of these items Tom Riddle covets so dearly. There is a little town called Little Hangleton in Yorkshire. There is a mansion once belonging to the muggle Riddle family, but on the outskirts, there's a small house belonging to the Gaunt family."

"The Gaunts are one of the Sacred Twenty–Eight, right?"

"Yes, and Tom's mother was Merope Gaunt. I think Tom might have hidden a horcrux in the shack there."

"I will go and check it out before I return to London," Harry nodded. "Let me know if you think of anywhere else."

"I will," Dumbledore nodded as well. "I wish you safe travels, Harry."

"I'll let you know if I find anything," Harry said before leaving the office and going to the gate to meet Dobby. "Can you take me to Yorkshire, Dobby?"

"Of course Harry Potter sir!" the elf excitedly said and took Harry's hand, before they disappeared from view.

•••

Dobby was sitting in a tree, watching out for anyone approaching, whilst Harry cautiously entered the designated hut. He was put off, finding a decomposed snake nailed to the door, but he pushed the door open, nonetheless. Harry's eyes glowed yellow, letting him see perfectly in the dark. There was mould and weeds shooting up from the ground, and a thick layer of dust and filth was on every surface. The place smelled horrendous, though Harry had smelt worse. At least there wasn't a decomposing corpse _inside_ the shack. He drew his wand, ready to unleash defensive spells if he had to. He also stretched out his perception of supernatural energies, and found that there was a dark, malignant presence close by. But more than that, he felt something he hadn't felt in years, or rather centuries when one counted the time–dilation of Meerlinda's chantry. An ache in his scar, dull and throbbing, but prominent nonetheless. Harry thought nothing of it, but as he slowly and cautiously stepped across the floor, the ache grew stronger. He stepped on a loose floorboard, and suddenly, his head was assaulted with sharp stabbing sensations. He grunted and stumbled to one knee, focusing on pushing the pain out of his mind. He looked at the floorboard, and noticed a small glimmer of something underneath it. He cautiously pulled it away to reveal a small, golden box, and Harry's more esoteric sight revealed magical energies floating around it, almost protecting it. Harry pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and placed it on the box before picking up the box. He felt a resonating vibration from within the box, and realised that it must be the horcrux.

_It seems they can communicate with one another, since I'm one as well. Better send this to Dumbledore._

Harry stood back up and left the shack, but saw a figure coming out of the Riddle house up on the hill.

_I thought the Riddle mansion was abandoned?_

"Dobby," Harry called out in a whisper.

"Yes, sir?" the elf appeared next to him.

"Go to Dumbledore's office and ask him to let you bring me the Gryffindor sword."

"At once, sir!" Dobby cried out in a whisper as well, and disappeared, before he returned with the requested item a minute later. "Here, sir!"

Harry took it with a smile.

"Stand back."

The elf walked a few metres away, and Harry raised the sword over the box. The pain in his scar worsened instantly, but he ignored it, and swung down the sword, cleaving the box in two, and as he did, the pain became blinding, he saw white, and he was forced to his knees, grunting at the pain.

"Master!" Dobby cried and ran over to Harry. "Master, are you alright!?"

"I'm fine Dobby, thank you," Harry muttered, and looked at the box. Inside was a ring with a black stone in it, and he had cleft the whole thing in two. But there was something about the stone. Something he couldn't resist, and he slowly picked it up. It was split in two, but he saw a faint symbol in the rock. He put the rock away in his pocket and handed the sword to Dobby, who instantly disappeared and reappeared, the sword returned to Hogwarts.

"Take me to London," Harry muttered, his hand clutching his head. "I'll guide you."

And the elf did as asked.

A Crescendo

Harry stood in an apartment, currently vacant of anything beyond a futon, a fridge, and a hotplate. Of course, if you didn't know what to look for. Harry had quickly found the weapons hidden under floorboards and in the walls, as well as the ceiling. He looked out the window, out into the streets of London. He heard the door behind him open.

"Good evening, Caiaphas," Harry calmly said. "I've been expecting you."

He turned around and looked at the elderly man, Caiaphas Smith, who was a vampire hunter. The man, his greying hair and beard, as well as the few wrinkles dotting his strong, stoic face, spoke to his age, but his body, veiled only marginally his clothes, showed that he was strong, no doubt strong enough to take on a young Brujah. His cold eyes stared at Harry.

"Who are you?"

"Name's James Evans," Harry said calmly, "and I have a vampire problem. I heard you were the man to talk to."

Caiaphas scrutinised him before the man entered with the grocery bag and started packing them into the fridge.

"I've been following a woman, 'Anne Bowesley'. I think she's some kind of kingpin of the London vamps, but she's surrounded with human guards all the time. I need someone to help in killing her."

"You a hunter yourself, kid?" Caiaphas asked with feigned disinterest.

"To an extent."

"Well, you came at a good time, then," Caiaphas said. "I've been tracking her too. Don't worry, she won't be around much longer. What'd you want with her, anyway?"

"She met my older sister in a pub seven years ago," Harry said, and did choke up just a little. "She bled her dry like a pig. I want the same to happen to that dead cunt."

Caiaphas paused. He had heard the stories before, hunters responding to the call to arms because of a loved one's murder at the hand of a blood sucker. It was the oldest and most common reason, but he had always thought it was a better reason than many others.

"Just go home, kid," Caiaphas said. "She won't be up much longer."

"Thank you," Harry muttered and left the apartment, his head held low and his face twisted in very well–feigned grief, though when he was out of sight, it turned into a grin.

_That's Plan B. Plan A has already been put into motion with the distribution of the rumours, and will be the nail in the coffin. Plan C is being prepared by Meerlinda right now, and Plan D has been put into motion with the C4. Everything is going according to the plan. In a week, Bowesley will be no more, and Dee will take her place in the chaos. My death will be staged, and I will disappear from London for a few years, until I resurface with a new face._

Harry left the apartment building with a smile.

•••

"Are you certain this will work?" Dee asked, sitting next to Harry on the bench in the park where they met. He was looking over the documents Harry had drafted detailing the plan, it's various parts and contingencies. "I don't doubt your skill, not after this," he gestured to the papers, "but are you certain it will work?"

"Absolutely," Harry nodded. "And if all the contingencies fail, I will move in and do it myself."

"Very well, Harrison. We commence tomorrow at ten."

•••

Harry sat in an empty apartment overlooking Queen Anne's haven. The window was open, and he was holding a Barrett M82A1; semi–automatic anti–material rifle, with an effective range of up to 1800 metres, and a maximum distance of almost 3500 in the hands of an expert sniper. He had it loaded with Raufoss Mk211, a .50 calibre highly–explosive incendiary round. On the top rail was a 3–12x56 mm scope with dimly glowing crosshairs, and at the end was a strong, high–end suppressor. Harry knew that with that beast of a rifle, he could take down practically any Kindred, and he wasn't planning on missing Queen Anne. He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. He had seven minutes to get ready. He kept his eyes roaming the street below, making sure not a single detail was unnoticed. He routinely looked down at the range chart he'd drawn up of the street, made sure his scope was adjusted properly, and doublechecked all the parts of his sniper nest. Everything was in order, and he looked at his watch again. Two minutes. He felt his heart beat quicker, and his breathing picking up just a little. Shooting at a distance and fighting up close were very different methods of killing, and he always started getting nerves when he was sniping. It was something only a truly despicable human could completely overcome, and Harry was secretly glad he felt the nerves; it meant he wasn't becoming another Voldemort. In hand–to–hand combat and with knives, he didn't get nerves, because he simply couldn't afford to get nerves. Me might feel them a little later, but his body knew that if it gave him nerves in a close–quarters fight, he might die.

Harry heard the gunfire and the shouting from within the mansion, telling him it had begun. He loaded a 15–round magazine into the rifle and racked the bolt, loading a bullet in the chamber. He flicked the covers to his scope up, flicked the safety off, steadied the bipod on the long table he was using as a shooting platform to lay on, and leant in close so that he could look down the scope. He sat still, his sights sweeping over the mansion, until he saw four bodies come running out; Anne and four bodyguard ghouls. Harry looked at his chart.

_Passing that alley, 450 metres._

He took aim on a guard, took a deep breath, and then let it all out air of his lungs. Using the steadiness of having no lung activity, he squeezed the trigger, and the rifle let out a loud 'crack', and the ghoul's torso blasted open, sending blood and gore out over the four remaining persons, who looked at him and stopped. When they looked around, another loud 'crack' resounded, and another ghoul was blasted open. The group tried to run back, but the third ghoul was blown apart as well. Soon, only Queen Anne remained running, and Harry fixated on her.

_700 metres and counting._

Harry took aim one last time. He saw the sudden downpour of liquid from the roof to her left, dowsing her in the substance.

_Just as planned._

Harry fired on the asphalt right next to her, and the _gasoline_ lit her up like a bonfire. It was bright in Harry's scope, but he zeroed in on her again, and for good measure, he blasted her in the chest, and soon, the fire stopped as it couldn't burn ash. Harry quickly put down the rifle and picked up a torch before he covered it with his hand a few times, signalling the ghoul on the roof, who did the same back. Harry then quickly went about packing his things, looking forward to returning to Hogwarts a few months later. After all, that was where his friends and girlfriend was.

•••

Harry was being roughly forced by his shoulders onto the stage of the small theatre. He was bound and gagged, beaten and bruised. He made sure not to heal his injuries, as they needed to be convincing. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. His broken leg was a nice touch. It hurt pretty bad, but was otherwise a convincing detail. He was thrown onto the stage by the ghouls dragging him.

"Kindred of London!" Meerlinda exclaimed, standing next to him. "This is the swine who tried to usurp power over the domain! The pathetic ghoul who tried to become Prince in his arrogance!"

Harry put on a guilty, shamed, and despairing front, but inwards, he smiled. Everything was happening as he had predicted it would. Meerlinda drew out a small flask of a clear liquid and a small sewing needle.

"This is Ricin," she stated out loud. "A single drop will kill a human in twenty–four hours or less, and it is quite painful! Should this traitorous and pompous ghoul be subjected to it!?"

There were several shouts of consent, as well as a lot of consenting muttering from the crowd.

"You, the ghoul scourge of London, are then hereby sentenced to death!" the elder Tremere exclaimed, dipped the needle in the liquid, and pocked it through the skin of Harry's neck, introducing the tap–water into his bloodstream. His bonds were severed, and he was released. "You have twenty–four hours! Say your goodbyes!"

She then kicked him to the side of the stage, and Harry scrambled weakly, groaning in mock–pain and clutching his neck where she had stabbed him. As he made his way from the theatre, none attacked him, but all mocked him. Harry had to kick himself mentally to force himself not to smile or laugh as he left the building.

•••

Sitting in the chantry, Harry read up on his school textbooks, confident he could score highest marks in all his NEWT's three years later. He also spent time going over the new documents Dumbledore had made for him detailing the different suspected horcruxes and their locations. One of them, he suspected, might even be at Hogwarts, but the more immediate concern was one likely stored in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts, seeing as they were staunch supporters of Voldemort since he went to Hogwarts. There was a place that Voldemort's orphanage had taken trips to where he might have hidden one, but Dumbledore would look more into it. Meerlinda had plenty of things to attend to, seeing as she had been made seneschal under Prince Dee. They were working hard to establish a spy network, and it was going slowly, but they were progressing. Harry spent his days and nights scoping out Gringotts, trying to find a way inside. He had come across several security memos on one of his trips inside, and had spent a lot of time studying them as well. All in all, he was caught in a studying frenzy that would make even Hermione proud.

•••

The day finally came in late April. The day he would go into the Lestrange vault and leave with what Dumbledore assumed to be either Salazar Slytherin's locket or Helga Hufflepuff's cup. He was wearing his invisibility cloak, granted to him by Dumbledore on one of his visits to the headmaster's office to hear new information about the horcruxes as he went along. Dumbledore apparently spent quite a bit of time when he could looking into Voldemort's past, and even gaining memories from several people who met him to review and study. Harry walked through the magical quarter, and entered the building, making sure to breathe as quietly as possible. He snuck through the atrium and the large hall where people would meet the goblins. When he reached the caverns beneath the building, he shuddered as he reached inside his pocket and withdrew a small plastic cup containing a rather small spider. He pulled it out and placed it under his mouth before closing his eyes and focusing on his blood and his feet. He then wrapped the cloak tightly around himself and placed his foot on the cave wall. Thankfully, it stuck tightly to the wall, and he then launched himself off with the other. Soon, Harry was walking horizontally across the walls of the cavern, clutching his invisibility cloak tightly. He soon reached the cave he wanted, the one containing the Lestrange vault. He quickly walked over to the door and pulled out a small plastic bag from his pouch under the cloak. He pulled out a severed hand, once belonging to a goblin who had 'called in sick' for the day, and placed it on the door. It melted away like he had read it would, and made his way inside, only to be remade after he was in. Under his cloak, his eyes brightened to glowing yellow. He spent a few minutes looking over the things. He spotted a small golden cup, and focused on it with his eyes. Sure enough, it had the engraving of a badger on it. He then stretched out his hand and tried to summon it with his telekinetic prowess, but it didn't move.

"Shit," he muttered to himself.

He looked around and saw a bookcase. He grabbed it and twisted and turned it before he gave it a strong push. It fell over with a resounding boom, and he knew he had to work fast. He ran up the back of the bookcase to reach the cup, and as he did, he took it with his gloved hand and stashed it in the pouch he carried. He slid back down the bookcase as his sensitive hearing caught exclamations and shouts outside. He used the hand to dematerialise the door, and then threw it down into the large cavern as he walked back across the surface of the cave wall. As he reached the platform, he turned around and spat out the spider after pulled the hood of the cloak away. He then saw goblins looking around wildly down by the Lestrange vault. He smirked, pulled the hood back up, and left the wizarding bank, with none the wiser as to his presence. He had spent decades training for operations like these, and was only aided by his newfound knowledge of the wizarding world. He couldn't be happier that he had decided to attend Hogwarts.

•••

Harry had Dobby bring him to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts in early May. Dumbledore was surprised, but also joyed to see Harry.

"How are you, dear boy?" Albus asked with a smile.

"I'm great," the teenager replied as he pulled the goblet out of his pouch. "The real, genuine cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and it is most certainly a horcrux. I feel it pounding in my head even now."

Dumbledore seemed sad for just a moment, until he stood up and went to retrieve the sword of Gryffindor.

"Would you mind doing it, Headmaster?" Harry said and took some steps away from the cup. "Destroying the ring was bloody painful."

"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore said and placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "In the future, just bring them to me, and I shall do it."

Harry nodded with a small smile, and then crossed almost half the room before he turned to witness the destruction of the cup. The moment the sword struck it, Harry felt the thunderous pain in his head once again, but it was much weaker, and he stayed on both feet, though he did sway with dizziness and ache. Dobby gently took his master by the hand, and Harry couldn't help the smile. The house–elf had been eagerly cooking food for Harry whilst he stayed in the chantry, as well as washed his clothes and cleaned the place up. Meerlinda had quickly approved of Dobby's presence, as the elf had taken the initiative to dust off her massive library and each book individually.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said and gently patted the elf's head.

"Always, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby excitedly said in a low voice, aware of Harry's new headache.

Harry conjured up a silver goblet, not unlike the one that had just been destroyed, and then extended his fangs and bit into his wrist. He then bled into the cup for a while. He handed the cup to the elf.

"Drink it," he said with a smile. "You've earned it."

Dobby seemed a little taken aback, but quickly drank it nonetheless.

"Dobby, as you know by now, I'm close to being a vampire," Harry started an explanation as he crouched down to be on eye–level with the elf. "I can ghoul any creature smaller than a human. It means that as long as you drink my blood at least monthly, you won't age a day. Usually, drinking a vampire's blood also entails having one's emotions bound to them, but this cup," he gestured at it, and pointed out the runic script engraved around the edge, "has been enchanted to remove that bond. I would never enslave you, Dobby, and I would like to have you around for a long time."

Dobby nodded eagerly and handed back the cup, which Harry wordlessly sent back to the London chantry.

"We're going," Harry said and took Dobby's hand once more, before he turned to Dumbledore. "I'll be back in time for the third task."

With that, he disappeared.

•••

Harry was sitting at the far end of the long table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place 12 as old members of the Order of the Phoenix were being called in to the first meeting in over a decade. He merely watched as everyone greeted each other, made small–talk, and found a seat around the other end of the table, where Dumbledore was seated. The Weasley parents, along with Bill and Charlie, were especially shocked at seeing Harry, but as per Arthur's wishes, Harry didn't acknowledge them. Soon, almost a dozen people were gathered and seated at the table.

"Albus, why is Harry Potter sitting at the other end?" Harry heard a woman lean in and mumble to Dumbledore. "He's underage, not to mention that he should be at Hogwarts."

"That will all be explained, Emmeline," Dumbledore assured the lady before he stood up and addressed the table. "I have had you all summoned here tonight to inform you that Voldemort is returning."

There were gasps and mutters from the Order members.

"Both Harry and myself are certain of it," Dumbledore gestured to the boy at the end of the table. "Now, I am certain that many of you are wondering why Mr Potter is here tonight. That is a simple question to answer; whilst I will stay at Hogwarts and attend to the security of the students, Harry will stay out of Hogwarts to continue the battle on the outside as a commander–in–chief."

Everyone went deadly silent.

"Harry, as most of you know well, wasn't found in the Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow fourteen years ago. He was taken in by a woman who happened to come by and see Voldemort commit his heinous act. This woman, Linda Watson, is a vampire, and she has been training Harry to fight and kill since he could walk."

"Merlin's beard," someone muttered, aghast. There were murmurs, but they were quickly silenced as Dumbledore spoke again.

"Incidentally, she has been teaching Harry the same tactics of warfare that Voldemort and the Death Eaters employed during the first war, in preparation for the second. Out of everyone here, Harry Potter is, without a shred of doubt in my mind, the most formidable foe Voldemort could have. Harry knows Voldemort's tactics, he knows how to defend against them, as well as how to turn them against him. Harry is also, sadly, a seasoned killer, as well as a dark creature. As much was revealed in the Daily Prophet this past August."

Harry sat and watched the reactions around the table. All eyes were on him, with varying degrees of horror and sadness. His own, however, displayed nothing as his face was as cold and hard as stone.

"The recent attacks against Death Eaters and known Voldemort supporters and affiliates have been committed by Harry, as a preemptive strike. He has spent the past few months thinning out Voldemort's ranks before they can be organised, to make it so that they would have to spend precious time training new recruits. Harry has been highly efficient in this endeavour, and has to date taken at least twenty Death Eater lives. Whilst I do not wish for anyone to use such tactics, it is the reality of war that people will do anything to win. I will not condemn Harry for doing what he has spent his entire life training to do, and I would ask the rest of you that you wouldn't, either."

"I will start off," Harry said as he stood up from his chair, and Albus respectfully sat down, "by saying that I want neither your sympathy, nor your comments on how I should change my tactics. I won't ask any of you to do as I do, and I hope you would extend the same courtesy to me. As to how I can fight this way, call it indoctrination, or call it desensitisation. I don't really care either way. I will not hide my past from you, nor will I hide my nature from you. There might come a time when I drag a Death Eater back here for interrogation. If you want to learn, I will teach you, but otherwise, stay away if you don't like it. There will be privacy charms put up in one of the rooms in the basement, so you won't hear the screams."

Several seemed to pale considerable, some swallowed, and a few actually began sweating. Most notably to Harry, the Weasleys looked more sad than anything else.

"As for what I am," Harry continued just as calmly and coolly, "I have subjected myself to magic which infused me with the traits of both werewolves and vampires. I possess the powers of both, and some of their weaknesses. I would ask you all that, if you wear silver rings, to take them off before touching me in any way, as well as not coming too close to me whilst wearing silver or having just eaten garlic. I would also ask that you refrain from too loud noises or creating strong scents. They irritate my ears and nose, and I'm prone to headaches from sensory overload."

There were just a few nods, but they were otherwise still.

"I would also like to say that I am available for guidance and counselling, should anyone ever need it. I am no psychologist, and I don't intend to become anyone's 'friend' with this, but I have studied the field, and if anyone should feel issues during the coming war, I might be found here, should anyone wish to talk. Mental health is imperative in war, and I take it very seriously. If any of you have issues or trouble with me, come and tell me directly to my face. I won't take it personally if you shout it in my face, either. Lastly, any reports of Death Eater activity comes straight to me, either face–to–face, or in written form. It is important that I am aware of the other side's movements if I am to lead this effort in Dumbledore's absence. I also have associates of my own. You will meet two of them sometime, but for now, suffice it to say that one is my guardian, a vampire, and the other is a powerful muggle–born wizard. That is all I have for now."

With that, Harry sat back down and folded his hands in front of him on the table. Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Harry, did you consult the stars as you said you would?"

"I did," Harry nodded. "They reveal a great darkness engulfing Britain, and it's going to happen soon. This means that no matter what is done, Voldemort will rise within the next year's time. And I don't know about anyone here, but I intend to welcome him back with a warm, fiery, explosive surprise. Or I might opt for a cold, uncaring, toxic one. Guess we'll see."

No one dared move a muscle when he slightly smirked. Suddenly a 'crack' came from behind Harry, indicating apparition, and Harry smiled. Everyone else at the table fumbled just a little and got to their feet, drawing their wands.

"Had I been a Death Eater, I could have taken six of you before you could do anything about it," Harry heard the very English accent from behind him. "You need to shave off the rust."

People all stared at him with confusion and shock, but Dumbledore instantly dropped his wand, it clanging on the table and making everyone look at him.

"James…" he muttered, his eyes wide. "How?"

"I told you I was older than I looked, Albus," the somewhat darker–than–fair skinned man with bright blue eyes and black hair sat down next to Harry with a smile, placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at the boy. "Sorry I wasn't here. I had business at the office, took a while longer than expected."

"It's fine," Harry smiled back. He then looked at Dumbledore. "Headmaster, I presume you know him."

Dumbledore picked his wand back up and stuffed it back in his sleeve.

"It's good to see you again, James," Dumbledore nodded at the man. "Everyone; this is James Evans. He is an extremely talented muggle–born wizard, and a highly competent auror for the MACUSA."

Muttering broke out again as people stared at James who just sat and smiled.

"I'll be lending my assistance to the Order when I can. I've just been transferred to the British Ministry for the next few years. I'll be keeping an eye out for Voldemort's influence in there, but I have to focus on work if I want to stay in Britain for any substantial amount of time. I'll be kept on a thin leash for being an outsider."

"Well, you sound pretty English to me," one of the Order members, a certain Elphias Doge, said.

"I was born and raised around Galilee," James snorted lightly. "Like a certain someone people like to mention when they're angry or startled."

"Who?" someone asked.

Before anyone could do anything, even Harry, James slammed his palm into the back of the boy's head, his smile never faltering.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Harry exclaimed as he rubbed the back of his head, which was a little dull.

"Exactly."

Dumbledore chuckled, catching the congregating Order members off–guard once more.

"Thank you all for joining us this evening. As of tonight, the Order is reformed. Harry will be here a lot, so if anything happens, go to him. That is all for now. Good evening."

It took a while for everyone to leave, but he noticed that the Weasleys lingered behind, as did Remus. Remus, however, looked far better than Harry had ever seen him. Rather than looking skinny and sickly, he looked perfectly fit and healthy. He had filled out his clothes, and he had even bought some new ones. His new suit was in the same style as his old one, but it was blatantly apparent that it was new and strong. He also smiled brightly as he came over to Harry.

"I must thank you, Harry," he said. "I can't remember ever having felt so… energised. Healthy. My lycanthropy always made me weak and sick, but now… I can feel it constantly keeping me strong. I can never thank you enough."

Harry stood up and slowly moved towards Remus, before braking out a smile and opening his arms. The man embraced the boy warmly, and it was returned just as warmly. They did soon let go of each other, however.

"The least I can do for a best friend of my father's," Harry smiled. "Now, make sure to enjoy your good health to it's fullest, you hear me? I don't want to find out you've wasted such a gift."

"I will," Remus chuckled, and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've become such a great wizard in such a short time, Harry. Your parents would be so proud of you, in spite of… current circumstances."

Harry smiled, but had to look down anyway. His parents were his soft–spot. Remus turned around and headed over to catch up with Sirius, as Arthur closed in to replace the werewolf.

"Harry…" Arthur began, but he seemed to not know what to say. Harry didn't hurry him. He just waited until Arthur had found the right words. "I've been thinking a lot about the World Cup, believe me. I can't recall a single day where I haven't thought about what I learned, what I witnessed. But because of what you looked like you were doing, I didn't realise what you were actually doing; you didn't just wantonly kill five or six men. You ran head on into a conflict zone, with no regard for your own safety, to make sure civilians would escape safely. It took me the past few months to figure that out. You knew what was going on before any of us, and you took the initiative to help before thinking of yourself. That is what I should have thought of you. So, if you will accept my apology, I would be more than happy to have you over at the Burrow again the coming summer."

Harry looked into Arthur's eyes, and found only guilt and shame, no hint of deceit or dishonesty. Harry stuck out his hand without a word. Arthur hesitantly took it and shook it. Harry then smiled a little.

"I'd love to."

Arthur smiled as well.

"We'll be expecting you, then."

Molly, relieved the tension had eased, waddled around her husband and pulled Harry into a tight hug, which Harry tightly reciprocated.

"I'll be looking forward to seeing you again, dear," she muttered and patted his cheeks as she released him.

"I'll be looking forward to your cooking," Harry said. "Ron spoke wonders of it."

"Just you wait, I'll fill that belly up better than anything you've ever had!" she gleefully responded.

The two oldest Weasleys behind their parents nodded at Harry with smiles, and he returned the gestures.

•••

It would soon be time for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament, so Harry decided to spend the rest of the period at Hogwarts. None of the Order members had really begun the initiative, as they needed to slowly rework calendars and schedules to allow for Order business without anyone noticing anything odd. Harry spent a great deal of time with Fleur, Hermione and the Weasleys, but Ginny would usually avoid him like the plague. He wouldn't apologise for what he had done. She would realise this over the summer.

However, today Harry decided that he would try and connect with Cedric. He'd been friendly with the guy before, and hoped for his support in the final task, as he would offer his own. He also hoped to make a friend out of Cedric, perhaps one he could confide his deepest feelings to. Really any Hufflepuff would offer a good base, but Harry felt like he needed Cedric in particular. The man just seemed so archetypical Hufflepuff, it almost hurt. But he'd also grown to like the guy. He found Cedric in the Great Hall, surrounded by other Hufflepuffs who seemed to scowl when Harry came close. Cedric turned when he saw it and smiled.

"Hey, Harry," he called. "I was thinking of talking to you, actually."

"Alright," Harry smiled back. "Come outside, then?"

Cedric said his goodbyes to his housemates as he followed Harry outside.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I was wondering if you have any clue what the third task is," he said. "You always seemed to be prepared for the others."

"Yeah, it's a maze," Harry said. "It's being grown on the Quidditch pitch as we speak."

Cedric's jaw almost dropped.

"Don't worry, it'll be cut down when the task is over," Harry said with a small smile. "Anyway, the Triwizard cup will be placed in the centre of the maze, and it'll be turned into a portkey. Whoever touches it first gets transported to entrance of the maze, and wins the tournament."

"How do you know so many details?"

"I have my ways," Harry shrugged.

The boys took a walk around the lake, chatting along the way.

"… so I'd like to join the Ministry after school, like my dad," Cedric finished.

"Sounds great."

"What about you?"

Harry sighed and looked out over the Black Lake.

"I'm not sure. Did you read the Daily Prophet a few days after the World Cup? And did anyone tell you what happened during my first task?"

Cedric seemed to grow a little sullen at that.

"Yeah. Is it true?"

"It is," Harry nodded. "I have connections to a few criminal syndicates composed of other creatures like me. In the unlikely event you should find yourself on the run in London, ask around for James Evans. I'll find you."

"I appreciate the offer," Cedric nodded. "I honestly don't think you're that bad. I think the others are overreacting."

"How?" Harry looked at Cedric with a raised brow.

"Well, people are complaining to the teachers about you being here at Hogwarts," Cedric started slowly, unsure of how Harry would take it. "They say they're scared when you're around. Parents have written to professor Dumbledore as well, tried to get you expelled for being a werewolf."

"It never ceases to amaze me how ignorant humans become when they're scared," Harry snorted lightly. "Fleur's part Veela, so she's just as little human as I am. How do they look at her?"

"Well, yeah," Cedric seemed a little taken aback and flustered. "But then again, Veelas are inhumanly beautiful, and really calm."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Harry chuckled. "They aren't inhumanly beautiful. They just give off a magic that twists the feelings and perceptions of those around them who are attracted to women. They mostly just look a little different. The magic is what makes them seem inhumanly beautiful, though I won't deny that a lot of them are, indeed, beautiful in the conventional way."

"You talking about Fleur?" Cedric asked with a smile.

"Well, she's only a quarter Veela," Harry explained. "Her _allure_ isn't as strong as that of a full Veela, but I'll admit, she's the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

They were quiet for a little as they made their round of the lake.

"Listen, Cedric. I know it might sound strange, but a storm's brewing."

"What'd you mean?"

"Voldemort will return soon enough," Harry said, his face now set in a somewhat troubled expression. "If you want the best chance of survival, I'd suggest you go have a talk with professor Dumbledore. Tell him you'd like to join the Order."

"Order?"

"He'll explain it," Harry stopped and looked out over the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. "A war's coming. And all of Britain will be swept up in it. "I can't guarantee you'll survive it, especially not with you being the son of Amos Diggory. You'll be a prime target to get to Amos, and the Death Eaters would like to get to Amos, considering his position in the Ministry."

Cedric seemed to be about to start arguing, but Harry held up his hand to stop him.

"You might be a pretty good student, and even a duellist here at Hogwarts. But when you face a seasoned Death Eater, I have no doubt you'll die. I'd like to offer you the best chance to live. If you join the Order, you'll be under my protection, and I can teach you how to survive Death Eater battles."

"Something tells me you aren't exactly normal, apart from being a werewolf," Cedric said with a worried face.

"That something is right. Ask Dumbledore, he'll probably tell you I'm the most dangerous person here at Hogwarts. And honestly, he wouldn't be wrong." Harry clapped Cedric on the arm. "Think about it."

With that, he walked off towards the castle, leaving Cedric looking after him as he retreated.

The End

Night had already fallen. The whole population of Hogwarts was gathered on the Quidditch pitch, now host to a five-metre-tall hedge maze. Harry and Cedric were wearing black running pants and matching shirts with the Hogwarts crest, except Cedric's was black and yellow, whereas Harry's was black and red. Fleur was wearing a light blue tracksuit with the Beauxbatons crest on her chest, and Krum was wearing dark brown pants with a light brown long–sleeve with the Durmstrang crest on it. They were all ready for the task, and Harry was ready for what lay beyond even that. He had to reach the cup first. Harry was mentally preparing himself as Dumbledore gave a small speech, and people cheered, and soon, he and Cedric were led to their entrance. His focus snapped back to the present, waiting for the cannon to fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of glowing red eyes somewhere in the highest stands, and while the person they belonged to was hidden well in the shadows, Harry knew exactly who it was, and smiled.

"Good luck," he muttered to Cedric.

"You too," Cedric muttered back.

The cannon roared, and the two boys took off sprinting into the maze. They split at the first opportunity, and Harry kept running. Soon, he heard the cannon, meaning Krum was released into the maze. And soon after that, it was Fleur's turn. But Harry kept running. He soon saw a Blast–Ended Skrewt, and as he came up to it and it was about to blast him with fire, he jumped over it and kept running. He then came across a patch where the maze tried crushing him, but he kept pushing through as his shirt was torn a little. Nothing would stop him from reaching the cup first, but to him, it wasn't about winning; it was about making sure none of the others ended up in a place they shouldn't be in. He was beginning to get into a fast–paced rhythm, until he came across a sphinx. Harry didn't have time to solve its riddle, however, and with a fast running start, he jumped and shot straight past the beast, though unfortunately one of its snake tails managed to catch Harry in the leg, and tore two long, shallow cuts in his right leg. He landed, hands first, and rolled over his shoulders, onto his feet, and kept running as the lion–woman–snake tribrid came running after him. He soon caught sight of the cup, and was elated, but he also saw Cedric come running from the other side. Icy water was pumped through his veins as he sped up to catch it before Cedric. Harry jumped towards it, but so did Cedric, and to Harry's dread, they touched the cup at the exact same time.

•••

Harry and Cedric landed heavily on the ground, sending both of them rolling across the grass. Harry sat up and pulled out the venomous fangs from his leg. He examined the wounds a little. The venom wouldn't do much to him, and his blood would produce more blood than would leave the wound, but the venom would keep it open for the meantime.

"I thought you said we'd be brought to the entrance," Cedric said as he looked around.

"That was the Ministry's plan," Harry said and looked around. "This was Voldemort's."

"What'd you mean!?" Cedric asked, but someone came close, out of a small structure.

Harry stood up on his best leg and moved towards Cedric. The cup had been thrown a little distance away.

"Kill the spare," Harry heard the small voice, and Pettigrew, who held the bundle of what Harry realised was Voldemort, raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry though quick and whipped out his own wand.

"Serpensortia!"

A black snake was shot out of Harry's wand, and exploded as it was struck by the Killing Curse.

"Cedric, get the cup!" Harry yelled.

"I'm not leaving y–"

"GET IT! I'LL BE FINE!" Harry shouted louder, and looked at Cedric with glowing, yellow eyes.

Cedric didn't seem to understand, but he ran over towards the cup nonetheless.

"Avada Kedavra!" Pettigrew shouted towards Cedric again, but this time, Harry was ready.

"Engorgio!" he shouted as he pointed at a rock between Pettigrew and Cedric, making it expand in size and catch the Killing Curse, blasting a piece of it off.

Cedric reached the cup, looked back at Harry with a measure of confusion and fear, but then touched the cup. Harry turned back to Pettigrew, only to see a light close in on him. As it struck, he realised what it was. His left arm fell off, severed at the middle of his bicep. Harry roared in pain, and sent a Blasting charm off, but it didn't strike anywhere as he lost focus and aim. He then felt magical ropes wrap around him, making him fall to the ground and drop his wand. Harry felt the stinging and burning in his severed arm, and saw it lying still on the ground a little away from him. Then he saw the ground leaving him, and he was levitated so that the stone statue of an angel of death was gripping him tight with its scythe. He couldn't focus as the pain where his arm had been severed was extreme, and spread towards his shoulder and neck.

_Dark magic! Fuck, it hurts!_

Harry roared in anguish again, and felt that he couldn't heal his arm.

_The dark magic must be negating my healing ability! Damn it!_

Harry didn't hear Pettigrew as he walked around the large cauldron, performing some kind of ritual. Harry did notice that Pettigrew picked up Harry's arm and threw it in the cauldron.

_The hell… is he… doing?_

Harry felt himself slip a little due to the now excessive blood loss. Soon, Pettigrew threw the wrapped bundle into the cauldron as well.

_Please drown, please fucking drown! PLEASE DROWN!_

But his scar in his forehead started hurting like a blade dipped in liquid nitrogen was stabbing it repeatedly, making Harry scream even more. His scar had never hurt so badly. He hadn't even felt it since he was four or five. Harry cried out as a figure rose from the disintegrating cauldron, a large form of what could only be described as a super–sized foetus, but Harry blacked out just momentarily. When he regained consciousness, he saw a bunch of Death Eaters gathered around a bald man with reptilian facial features, wearing long, flowing black robes of some light material.

"Harry Potter," the newly resurrected man Harry knew as Voldemort muttered with a dark glee. "You have completed me."

"You're fucking welcome," Harry muttered, light–headed and feeling a dull ache in his scar, leg and phantom arm. "I'll expect a proper bloody 'thank you' box of the best chocolates in Britain."

"Even when faced with death, you remain as sarcastic as Bartemius Junior said you were. Do you not fear death, Harry?"

"Nah," Harry muttered, his head clearing a little as he felt his leg start healing. "I made my peace a long time ago. You're the one who's desperate to cling to life. This world isn't the end. You know that, right, Tom?"

Voldemort seemed to scowl just a little as he moved closer.

"I am Lord Voldemort, whelp," he muttered dangerously.

"You seem to think I care," Harry started chuckling.

Abruptly, however, Harry was released by the statue, and fell face first onto the ground.

"Pick up your wand!" Voldemort exclaimed. "I presume you know of wizard duelling, Harry!"

Harry didn't hesitate in picking up his wand once the magical ropes binding him disappeared. He quickly got up and held it at the ready. Voldemort smiled gleefully, though it fell when Harry launched a surprise attack.

"Confringo!"

Voldemort merely swiped the Blasting Curse away.

Harry sent a few more curses Voldemort's way, each deflected or blocked. Voldemort, however, sent a string of curses Harry's way in turn, and Harry dodged, sidestepped, blocked and deflected them as well. Harry couldn't figure out what to do, he'd never been in a wizard duel before. He then took a few cautious steps backwards, his wand constantly ready. That was not to be, however, as one of the Death Eaters Voldemort had ordered to leave Harry to him, sent a curse at Harry, which struck him right in the shoulder. The man had conjures an arrow made of silver, which was now sticking out of Harry's shoulder, making the lycanthropic boy stumble to his knees, roaring in anguish.

"Dolohov, I told he was mine!" Voldemort called out, and soon, Dolohov's screams could be heard throughout the graveyard. "I'm so sorry, Harry. They have no manners. Please forgive the interruption."

Voldemort then sent another few curses, one of which struck Harry's right leg, and severed it at the knee. Harry fell and roared in pain and agony once more, but he fought through the pain and got up by leaning against the statue wielding a scythe. Voldemort seemed to have had enough fun, as his eyes narrowed as Harry kept up a strong façade, even as he kept groaning. He would not let the weakness show on his face. Harry did notice the small 'pop,' and looked to the right. The Triwizard cup was there, as was Dobby.

"Dobby, get back to Hogwarts!" Harry roared, and Dobby reluctantly disappeared again.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort roared at Harry, and Harry instinctively, not knowing what to do, raised his wand as well. "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Green and red bolts of light struck each other, and seemed to melt together. Harry felt his wand start vibrating as golden balls of light appeared along the green and red stream which threw off sloughs of what looked like molten gold to Harry. He felt the vibration grow stronger, but he used his strength to suppress it, and as he did, he noticed the golden ball crawl towards Voldemort's wand. He kept pushing, grunting in pain and effort as the golden ball reached Voldemort's wand, and a blue, ghostly figure almost seemed to fall out of it. It then floated around, and took the appearance of an old man who looked at Voldemort.

"He killed me," the man uttered in astonishment, and then saw Harry. "Fight him, boy! Fight with all you got!"

Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. A ghost of one Voldemort had killed? Then, what happened if... Harry pushed back even more, until another such figure dropped out. This one took the form of a man, one Harry recognized. Tears started rolling down Harry's cheeks, his arms still vibrating powerfully.

"Dad..."

The ghost of James Potter smiled at Harry.

"You mother will be here soon."

And as Harry pushed back, using every ounce of his willpower, another ghost dropped out of Voldemort's wand and floated over to James, who was headed towards Harry. Harry would have recognized her anytime.

"Mum..." tears were flowing heavily as he groaned under the strain of the spells.

Voldemort seemed astonished at what happened, as well.

"We're here, sweetheart," Lily said in her ethereal voice as the Potters floated towards their son. "We've always been here."

"I miss you!" Harry called out and closed his eyes tightly together.

"We know, son," James spoke, "but now isn't the time! When you break the connection, we can linger for a moment to give you some time to reach the cup, but only a moment! Do you understand!?"

Harry nodded quickly, his shoulders shaking both from the vibrating wand in his hands and from his suppressed sobs.

"Harry, we're so proud of you, sweetheart!" Lily called out. "But you have to go! You're ready!"

"I don't–" Harry was about to say he wasn't ready, that he didn't want to leave them.

"We'll see you again when it's your time, son!" James shouted over the blasting, grounding noise of the colliding spells. "But until then, live life as best you can! We will never judge you for what you've become! NOW GO!"

Harry shook, tears welling out as he pulled his wand away from the connection. As soon as he did, the ghosts all soared towards Voldemort, creating a ghostly blue cloud obscuring Harry from his sight. Harry jumped on one leg towards the cup and screamed, both because of the pain, but also for the parents he had lost. He jumped forwards, about to grasp the cup with his right hand still gripping his wand, until he felt something go through his chest, and he was spun around, landing with his back towards the ground and his hand around a handle of the cup, sending him back to Hogwarts.

•••

People looked down towards the entrance to the maze. Cedric had returned with the cup, but he had seemed panicked for Harry's safety. Something with a graveyard and a guy who wanted to kill Cedric. When Dumbledore went to take the cup to go to the place, however, they all noticed a house–elf taking it and disappearing. Now, it was a waiting game to see what happened. When something finally did, people everywhere screamed, threw up, and fainted. Fleur dropped to her knees, her eyes wide and face pale and clammy, her breathing going into hyperventilation. Dumbledore and the other members of staff slowly gathered around the cup and the thing holding it. It was a thing, because it was no longer alive, as far as anyone could tell.

A large silver spear was sticking in the ground, and on it, hand dropping wand, missing left arm and the right leg, as well as having a silver arrow through the shoulder and cuts and bruises, skin cooling and paling rapidly... was Harry Potter, his eyes open and blank, tears and blood marring his face, his jaw hanging slack. Dumbledore slowly and carefully moved his ear close to the boy's mouth. No breathing. He then carefully checked for a pulse. No heartbeat. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived... had finally died.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and rubbed them with a shaking hand, a few silent tears rolling down his old, weathered face. Several members of the staff looked horrified, and even Snape seemed too shocked to do anything but stare at the mutilated corpse of _Lily's son_. Hearing a struggling cry behind him, Dumbledore turned, and saw with shocked eyes Fleur Delacour slowly crawling towards the corpse, her eyes swollen and overflowing with tears, face twisted in horror, her legs seeming unable to carry her as she dragged herself forward on weak arms and let out strangled sobs. She came up to Harry and started caressing his face and hair, her anguished wails gaining in power as her entire body shook. Dumbledore, without thinking, gently started caressing her hair, seemingly trying to comfort, her, but in reality, he was comforting himself. Fleur's parents came forward and tried prying her off the body, but she wouldn't let them.

"_Mon amour_," she rasped out in a hoarse and pained voice as she gently stroked Harry's face and hair. She reached down and took his lifeless right hand in hers and held it close to her heart, and her crying intensified.

Cedric was sitting nearby, shaking from head to toe as his eyes stared blankly at the corpse. Not even Cho, who was trying to talk to him, could get through to him. Until he looked at Dumbledore.

"He's back," the seventeen–year–old croaked out. "You–Kn... _**Voldemort**_... is back."

Dumbledore turned his attention to Cedric, whose eyes began watering, and he began shaking lightly.

"Harry tol– he told me to leave. He protected me... from... two Killing Curses. He told me he'd... be fine."

With that, Cedric broke down and couldn't talk anymore. Dumbledore got up and slowly walked over to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Had you not done as he had told you... you would only have been another casualty," Dumbledore spoke calmly, though his stomach was churning. "He knew that... and he decided you, at least, should get to escape."

"If I'd stayed, I could've–" but Cedric couldn't contain the gasps and moans of grief.

"Don't blame yourself, Cedric. Harry always knew the risks, and he wasn't willing to gamble your life on that."

"Get the students back to the castle," Fudge murmured to the Ministry officials that were with him. "Get them to their common rooms."

The respective heads of the houses all began guiding their students back towards the castles. Hermione and the Weasleys were particularly difficult to get, and Fleur was clawing at her parents and fellow Beauxbatons student dragging her away from the body. Once everyone was cleared, only Dumbledore, Moody, Fudge, and a handful of aurors remained, until a stranger joined them. It was a beautiful woman who Dumbledore recognised. Fudge and Moody were about to draw their wands, but Dumbledore held his hand out to stop them.

"I entrusted you with his safety, Dumbledore," Meerlinda quietly said, her brown eyes fixed on her charge's corpse. "I let him go to school… and this is what happens?"

She didn't shake, she didn't cry. She was merely as cold as ice, emotionless to even the most experienced observer.

"I didn't know this would happen, Ms Watson," Dumbledore said with a weary voice.

"Harry did," she stated and pulled a piece of parchment out of her pocket, which she handed to Dumbledore.

_Alastor Moody is Bartemius Crouch Junior. He's using Polyjuice Potion._

_ HP_

Dumbledore, so quick no one caught it, drew his wand and stunned Moody instantly. He then held the parchment out to Fudge.

"Aurors, take 'Moody' into custody and inform Barty Crouch that we found his son," Fudge spoke with a shaking voice. "We'll deal with him later."

Fudge left with the aurors and left Dumbledore and Meerlinda alone to talk it out. Her charge had just been killed during a school event, after all. Meerlinda walked over to the corpse and crouched down next to it. She gently rubbed the boy's stomach, like she had when he was just a toddler.

"It's alright, sweetheart," she whispered. "I'm here for you."

She then noticed something through the torn sleeve of his mostly–intact right arm. She pulled the sleeve up to the elbow, and her eyes widened, before a small smile made its way to her face.

_James, you clever, dirty bastard._

She pulled the sleeve back down and let the smile fall. She stood back up and faced Dumbledore.

"I'm taking his body with me," she said coldly. "The funeral will be held at midnight between June 30th and 31st, in Godric's Hollow. I trust you know where the grave will be. Tell the students that any attendee is welcome."

Dumbledore was still and silent for a little while. Then he nodded. Meerlinda gently pushed the boy's body further down the spear until he was lying flat against the ground. She then pulled it out and threw it away, where it dematerialised. She pulled out the arrow as well. She then gingerly picked up the boy, her strength making it an easy task.

"I'm walking to the gate. Will you take us home?"

"I will," Dumbledore said quietly.

The walk to the gates was long, and as they came closer, they saw that the staff had quickly organised a vigil, with students and staff forming a long, narrow path towards the gate to the grounds. It was noticeable that there was only a few Slytherins, but every other student was gathered, everyone with a wand in hand. As Meerlinda, carrying her surrogate son in her arms like a sleeping baby, entered the path, everyone lifted their wand and lit it up with a brilliant, white light. Every student seemed sad and downtrodden, and just a few, noticeably Hermione, Ron, Fleur, Gabrielle and Cedric, were actively crying, but kept their wands up nonetheless. Meerlinda kept walking, her face stoic, until a single tear of blood rolled down her porcelain cheek. She and Dumbledore left through the gate and instantly disappeared, but Dumbledore returned a few seconds later.

"There will be a memorial service June 1st at the End–of–Term Feast. You have a week until then. Spend time with your friends. Cherish them. Tell them how much they mean to you. Now, off to bed."

•••

Meerlinda walked through the subterranean chantry in London, eventually making her way to Harry's room. She laid him down on the bed and gingerly tucked him under the duvet, like she had when he was a child. She looked at the photograph in a frame next to his bed, which was of Meerlinda and Harry sitting in a park feeding ducks when he was three years old. She smiled sombrely. She had done her best to try and give him a normal childhood before he would begin wanting revenge against Voldemort. She had done her best, and she felt that she had failed, but Harry's declarations of loving her always made her feel good about herself. She gently stroked his cold, pale cheek with the back of her fingers.

"Here's looking at you, kid," she quoted one of Harry's favourite films growing up.

•••

The Great Hall was full, and had been outfitted with hundreds of chairs instead of the long tables with benches for the occasion. The usually colourful banners were completely black. Dumbledore sat by himself in the headmaster's chair in front of the students and staff. He felt more tired than he ever had before. All was quiet, and none dared make a sound as the headmaster was about to talk. He sat and looked out over the school's population.

"We are here today… to acknowledge a terrible tragedy," Dumbledore began and slowly stood from his chair, speaking out over the Great Hall at the students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang alike. "Harry Potter was, as most of you undoubtedly realised during his performance of the first task, not entirely human. But I don't think that matters. When he first came here, Harry was cold, removed, didn't have any friends, and didn't seem like he had any intentions of making any. I honestly don't believe he would have cared if half the school's students were murdered. I believe he could have watched it all happen right in front of him, and not bat an eye."

Some of the students looked at one another with horrified faces.

"But I observed as Harry changed!" Dumbledore exclaimed loudly. "He grew to care for others, he made friends, and his threats of violence lessened. He even fell in love!"

Fleur's somewhat quiet sobbing could be heard throughout the hall.

"Harry changed, when he saw what Hogwarts had. Something of which he had been bereft as a child; a family. Seeing his parents, hearing them talk to him. Those were the greatest desires locked away deep in his hardened heart. The thing he wanted most was family, and he realised he could have made one of Hogwarts. Harry grew up without the love of a father and mother. His guardian heeded his wish for revenge against Lord Voldemort, and so, from the time he could walk and talk, Harry trained to kill."

Students started buzzing with whispers until Dumbledore talked again.

"Harry learned at a young age that some things cannot be overcome so easily. He was taught how to fight, how to make poison, how to get close to his target. And every time he took a life in his pursuit of becoming strong enough to destroy Voldemort, his heart broke just a little further. Make no mistake; Harry… was a good boy. He was kind to those who were kind to him. He was respectful, courteous, and polite, and he was a loyal friend to those who had the fortune of befriending him. And despite what he has claimed, he didn't just want revenge on Voldemort for murdering his parents. He wanted to kill Voldemort, so that no other child would have to be orphaned because of the Death Eaters and their master. So that no mother or father would lose their child, so that siblings would not the torn apart by a fateful curse. Despite what he made others believe, and what he desperately tried to convince himself of, Harry trained so that he could protect people he had never met, and would likely never meet.

Harry realised that he would need as many advantages over Voldemort as he could get. To that end, he subjected himself to horrendous, tortuous, agonising magical rituals which transformed his body into that of a werewolf, and partially a vampire, as well. He needed as much power to oppose Voldemort as possible. And so, he decided to become a monster. Harry sacrificed his compassion. His guilt. His shame. He sacrificed his happiness and his joy, his very humanity by turning himself into a monster… and eventually, sacrificed even his life, for all of you, and your families.

The only thing which could be heard was the quiet grief of Fleur.

"His guardian has informed me that at midnight between July 30th and July 31st, there will be a funeral service for Harry. She has said that anyone who wishes to pay their respects is welcome in the cemetery in Godric's Hollow in the West Country of England to do so."

With that, Dumbledore sat back down in his chair, looking and feeling more tired than he had in decades.

•••

Meerlinda stood in front of the newly minted headstone.

_Harry James Potter_

_31.07.1980 __24.06.1995_

"_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me."_

_Psalm 23:4_

She was standing in an outfit similar to the one Harry liked to wear the most. She smiled a little, until she heard a lot of footsteps behind her and turned around. The blond girl Harry had fancied was slowly walking towards her, her parent and little sister a few paces behind her. She looked absolutely devastated, with dark bags under her red, swollen eyes, pale skin and dulled, greyish eyes. Meerlinda had seen her so vibrant, but it was like the fire of life had been doused in her. At least it looked like she had showered, but she hadn't put on any make up or any fancy clothes. Meerlinda was actually shocked to see that she was wearing clothes quite similar to her own, in fact. This visit had nothing to do with appearances; she was there for Harry and for herself. The girl was carrying a somewhat small bouquet, but Meerlinda also noticed _why_ it was small; it was a bouquet comprised solely of lilies, like Harry's mother's name.

Fleur looked at Meerlinda with sad and pained eyes, and Meerlinda slowly walked over to the girl who stiffened up. Until Meerlinda wrapped her arms around the girl comfortingly.

"He always thought about you when he was home," Meerlinda whispered to the girl in French.

Fleur started shaking, but reigned it back in. She nodded and stepped away so that she could place the flowers on the grave. She placed a small handful on James' grave, a handful on Lily's, and then the rest on Harry's. She snorted and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"_Au revoir, mon amour_," she whispered and momentarily placed a hand on the headstone. "_Fais de beaux rêves_."

She then stood up, until she swayed a little and felt nauseous. Meerlinda quickly caught her arm and kept her stable.

"Are you alright?"

"I am fine," Fleur nodded.

But Meerlinda was in for the shock of her unlife when she noticed Fleur's hands land on her lower stomach. Her hands seemed to caress it.

"You're pregnant," Meerlinda simply whispered.

Fleur looked at Meerlinda for a little, and then nodded.

"How long?"

"Right before the third task," Fleur said. "Harry and I spent the night together every day that week."

Fleur couldn't help the very minor chuckle.

"He said he doubted I would ever carry his child, seeing as werewolves seemingly have a hard time conceiving. But I suppose miracles really do happen."

Fleur simply stood and caressed her stomach.

"Don't worry, _mon amour_," she whispered at the grave with tears rolling down her cheeks. "I will make sure our daughter grows up loved, knowing how much you love her."

Meerlinda looked into the small patch of trees close by to see a pair of yellow eyes staring back. She nodded slightly, and Fleur looked up as well, only for her eyes to widen in shock.


	3. Chapter 3

The Beginning of The End

Harry Potter, whole, complete, and with a small smile on his face, stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, his eyes glowing bright yellow.

"Hello, darling," he said suavely. "Miss me?"

Fleur was too shocked to do anything as Harry slowly came closer. He only stopped when he stood right on front of her, and put his hand to her cheek, a sensation she had missed dearly, and leant into with closed eyes and a tear rolling down her face.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," he whispered with a sad smile. "I needed the world to think I was really dead. But I will never leave you again."

Fleur leant her head against Harry, and he gently draped his arms around her.

"How?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Magic," he whispered back, saying it like one would to entertain a child and making her giggle lightly.

She looked at him with wonder. They stared into each other's eyes, and Harry saw them almost literally brighten as life had been restored in them.

"I want to be with you," she muttered. "Always."

For the first time in over a month, they leant close and kissed sweetly, relishing the touch of the other. When they parted again, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a white–gold ring with a small sapphire on it.

"Marry me," he whispered.

Fleur's tears gained in volume as she nodded her head weakly. He gently took her left hand and slid the ring on her finger. She kissed him again, more chastely, and then turned to look at her family, all of whom were shocked beyond words. She showed them her left hand, smiling brightly through the tears. Fleur then looked down at her still flat stomach, and smiled at Harry.

"You told me it was unlikely that you would ever start a family with me," she said quietly. "Harry, you're going to be a father."

Harry's small smile widened, as did his eyes. He looked down at Fleur's stomach, and he started chuckling, even as Fleur saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

"You hear that?" he said and turned to look at the two headstones next to his own. "You're gonna be grandparents." He then turned back to Fleur. "Congratulations on joining the Potter family, Fleur," Harry muttered to her. "We're overjoyed to have you."

"This is all well and nice," Meerlinda said, "but there are others on the way." She then turned to Harry. "You'd best make yourself scarce."

Harry nodded and kissed Fleur once again.

"Try to act like I'm still dead," he winked at her with a chuckle, then nodded at her family, and finally turned around and ran into the woods.

Fleur stared after him a while, until she walked back to her family and stood with them as they all put on their best grieving faces. Soon, random students Fleur recognised from Hogwarts came by and quietly greeted the Delacours, paid their respects to Harry's grave with flowers and small ornaments, and then gave Meerlinda, who carried a saddened face, their condolences. Soon, the crowd thinned out a little as people came and went, and Meerlinda discreetly handed Fleur a piece of paper. Fleur read it, and then passed it along to her family. Once they all read it, Meerlinda ignited it in her hand without any hesitation (or a wand, Fleur noted) and turned it to ash in an instant. As the time neared two at night, almost everyone had come and gone, even plenty adult wizards who had known Lily and James, and just those who wished to pay their respects to The Boy Who Lived, had been by to see the grave. The final people to arrive were the Weasleys, all dressed in their finest black. Which was actually saying something, considering they all wore brand new black dresses for the two women, and suits for the men and boys. All of them seemed sad, but Ron looked especially devastated, as did Hermione who was holding his arm, also dressed in a black dress. Ron looked up and saw Fleur, and despite her beauty, despite her allure as a Veela, for the first time in his life, Ron felt nothing that could even remotely attract him to her. All he had was the sadness that squeezed his chest as he saw the headstone of his best mate, and a few more silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Hey there, mate," he rasped out, shocking the whole family. He hadn't said a word since the third task. "I hope you're… ya know… good… and happy… where you are now. Thanks for the money for the clothes, by the way. None of us had anything really proper to wear for… for a funeral."

He gently pulled his arm out of Hermione's grip, walked forwards, and pulled a small item out of a pocket. He crouched down in front of the grave and place it up against the headstone; it was a wooden rune tile which Harry had left on his pillow before the third task. It carried runes for strength, endurance, and bravery.

"You also wrote in the note you left that this tile would keep me brave and strong, for anything that would be thrown my way," Ron said and stared at the headstone. "Dumbledore once told me, after I'd stopped Quirrell, that the Flamels had agreed to destroying the philosopher's stone. When I asked why they'd want to die, he just said that… that to the well–organised mind, death is just the next great adventure. But I think you knew that, or at least something like it. You did leave a note on my pillow, after all, telling me what you wanted me to do after you'd passed. Just how much did you know?"

He took a small pause and recomposed himself.

"Anyway, I just wanted to give you a little in return. So I thought I'd give you some courage, and some strength, so that you can be ready for your own next adventure."

Ron almost broke down right there, but he stood back up and took some deep breaths. He then looked around with a small smile, drinking in the night of Godric's Hollow.

"I guess I see why you loved the night–time so much," he muttered. "It really gives things a new beauty, doesn't it?"

Ron stepped back as Hermione walked forward and placed a white rose on the ground in front of the headstone, silent tears rolling down her face as well.

"Bye, Harry," she muttered. "I'm going to miss you. We all are. And… I noticed that little book, that… grimoire you were always translating, on my bed… along with the dictionaries and… and your notes and translations. I'll make sure to finish it. I promise."

Ron and Hermione stood back as the rest of the family quietly paid their own respects. They left a little while after that. Meerlinda looked into the small patch of forest, but quickly looked back to Fleur and her family.

"Harry's gone, and he's going to announce that he faked his death tomorrow in the headquarters of the Order," she told Fleur. "We're willing to let you stay with us in London if you wish to stay close to Harry. He will be busy with the Order and the war, but he will make sure to find time for you, as well."

Fleur nodded with a smile and turned to her family.

"I'm going to stay here in England," she proclaimed. "But I'd like for you to return to France. Gabrielle has school, and you both have work."

Her parents looked at each other for a few seconds, and then walked over to embrace their little girl.

"You're all grown up," Apolline Delacour said. "I want nothing but the best for you. But if this is what will make you happy, so be it."

"Your mother is right," Monsieur Delacour said. "You found a good, strong, and clever man to marry. I'm proud of you, my little angel."

"_Merci, maman, papa._" Fleur then crouched down and hugged her little sister. "Look out for yourself, okay? Boys are going to be annoying in the beginning, but I don't doubt you'll find someone wonderful who truly loves you. Like my Harry."

"I'll miss you," Gabrielle told her sister.

"I'll miss you too," she muttered and kissed her on the cheek.

The Delacours waved at their daughter and sister as they slowly left the cemetery, and Fleur turned towards Meerlinda.

"The entrance to the chantry is on the east side of the building, going down under it. When you come inside, call out Harry's name. He likely isn't there, but it's a password that allows you to enter through the wards. He won't be back until morning, at least."

Fleur nodded, and then apparated away to the first address on the piece of paper Meerlinda had given her.

•••

Harry sat in the park and waited for Dee to appear, which didn't take too long.

"It's good to see you, Harrison," the elder vampire said.

"Likewise, Elder Dee."

"I hear from Meerlinda there has been a change of plans."

"There has. I'm no longer becoming a Kindred. I will, however, remain a ghoul, and I would still like to become scourge. I just need a few years to remain 'dead'."

"Any particular reason?"

"I'm finishing my life as I have lived it for a while now. There are some people out for me, and I won't be able to focus on my duties as scourge until they're dealt with."

"I see. Well, I wish you good luck in this endeavour of yours, then. I still look forward to your service. And thank you for your help in establishing my praxis. It was invaluable, and much faster than I could have done it myself."

"You are most welcome, Elder Dee," Harry smiled. "Things are finally looking up for me, if just a little. I look forward to being able to lead a calm, steady life as scourge."

"I doubt it will be calm, but I suppose I understand what you mean," Dee said with a small, forced smile.

"I will have at least some calm," Harry said with a smile and looked down. "I just asked my girlfriend to marry me."

Despite himself, Dee did raise a brow.

"Did you now? What did she say?"

"We're getting married," Harry chuckled. "And I just learned that we have a baby on the way. I'll be using my position as scourge to make sure to catch any threat to her that may be made if anyone discovers it."

"Then why tell me?" Dee asked, genuinely confused.

"Because I want you to know just how much I want to serve you as scourge. Because I want you to know that, despite what I do in my free time, I will take my duties seriously, and that I have no desire to be Prince, even if a ghoul such as I could even become one. Having you in power affords me a certain amount of protection, and I don't want to lose that protection. And also to know that, if anyone finds out about her or my child, I know who told."

"Take care, then, Harrison," Dee said, a little troubled by the new turn of events.

"I will."

•••

Harry walked down into the chantry and quickly found his bedroom. He saw Fleur lying in his bed, her clothes lying on his chair, and sleeping soundly under the duvet. Harry smiled with a happiness he couldn't recall ever having felt before. He took off his clothes and carefully climbed into bed behind her. As he snuggled close to her, she seemed to wake up.

"Hey," he whispered and kissed her bare shoulder.

"Hey," she whispered back with a tired smile. "I haven't been able to sleep properly since the task. I just felt so tired when I came in."

"All that's mine is now yours, too," he whispered as he kissed her under the ear. "My bed, my child, my heart and my soul. It's all yours."

"What a romantic," she muttered and turned around so they faced each other. "No wonder I fell so hard for you."

"What, me? How? I'm so hideous and young and barbaric…" he trailed off with a smile. "I don't know what you see in me."

"Charmer," she mumbled and kissed him on the lips, which he reciprocated.

"I try my best," he smiled. "Do you want to come along for the meeting tonight?"

"I told Dumbledore I would join the Order," she nodded. "Cedric Diggory joined too."

"Well, I'm glad he took my advice. He's got real potential, but he needs to be hardened if he wants to draw it out to his fullest. If he survives this war, I reckon he'd be well–equipped to become head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"You sound awfully pessimistic, saying it like that," Fleur said as her smile faltered just a little.

"I'm being realistic. There's no way of telling who will die and who will live. The graveyard was a fluke, a safeguard my guardian and I have been keeping up since I was nine. I figured this would be the best time to stage my death, seeing as how Cedric could vouch for Voldemort being there."

"But no one took him seriously," Fleur stated.

"I know, I never expected anyone to. I just hoped that at least a few would. But the Ministry is calling him and Dumbledore liars. Hell, my mutilated corpse was published on the front page of the Daily Prophet, and somehow people still don't believe he's back."

"Well, people aren't the cleverest," she mumbled and snuggled close to her new fiancé. "You pulled the wool over everyone's eyes."

Harry gently stroked her hair as she fell silent. Fleur's breathing eventually shallowed and she fell asleep. Harry looked down at his lower right arm, where there was a mark as if stamped on with a red–hot metal brand.

•••

_Harry woke up, gasping for air as he did, eyes wide open and his heart racing like a machinegun. He quickly tore apart his shirt and looked at his chest, but there wasn't a single blemish to reveal the silver spear that had pierced his heart. He threw his head back into the pillow, but then raised it and looked at his left arm. It was there, as if it had never been cut off. Looking down and raising it, he saw that his right leg was there as well. He rolled out of bed, fell onto the floor and quickly got up, dizzy and disoriented. He just barely made it to the toilet before he let out an unsteady stream of half–digested food. When he had emptied his stomach, he sat over the toilet and dry–heaved for what seemed like ages. His nose and mouth burned with the stomach acid that had been pushed up, and he quickly stuck his head under the tap of the sink and opened it, letting the cool, clean water run through his orifices and clear out the acid. When he was done, looked himself in the mirror, and saw that the scar on his forehead had faded, and was just barely visible against his pale, clammy skin. It had always been so much more prominent, and always looked red, like it was still healing. Now, it was white and looked like it was almost fully healed. Since it had been inhabited by dark magic, the horcrux, it had never really healed, but there it was. Harry started heaving in laughter. It was gone. The horcrux was gone. Harry felt elated, uplifted even. But then he remembered that his emergency revival had also been linked to the rejuvenation glyph he had expended after he had faced the Hungarian Horntail, and a small, sombre smile made its way to his face._

"_So, this is Heaven, huh?" he mumbled and looked around. "Of course it would look like the chantry if it's my personal paradise."_

_Then another thought, a memory really, popped into his head._

"_Mum!?" he called out and left the bathroom in a hurry. "Dad!?"_

_He ran through the chantry, checking everywhere, but there was no one in there with him. His smile faltered._

"_This isn't Heaven, is it?" he asked and turned on the spot in the main 'lobby' of the chantry. "Is this… Hell?"_

_An eternity spent in the chantry where he could have looked outside to see people almost standing still in their movements. An eternity in his childhood home, all by himself. The realisation of it dawned on him, and he started breathing heavily._

"_No, no, no, no..." he stumbled backwards, turning in circles. "No, don't do this to me, please… please, not this," he breathed in a despairing tone, his face twisting in the upstart of emotional agony._

_He raised his hands to clutch his head, but then saw something on his right arm. Hebrew letters looking like a brand. He held his right arm horizontal in the air and read them._

"'_Omen'? 'Sign', 'mark', 'warning', 'omen', 'remembrance'?" he muttered to himself, recalling the different English translation the Hebrew word 'oth'._

_Then he remembered something. He ran to the library and scoured the bookshelves until he found a little, black, leather-bound book with pressed, silver Hebrew lettering on the front, and pulled it down. He flipped through it, until he landed on a page quite close to the beginning. Well, reading from right to left as one did in Hebrew, starting from the back if reading in English. He found the passage he was looking for. He found that same word sitting there. He then looked up at the shelf and pulled out another, a King James Bible. He walked over to a table, laid down the Hebrew book on the verse he was looking for, then found the same passage in the King James Bible._

"_And the Lord said unto him, Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him."_

_Harry looked out into nothingness, his eye's wide and his usually somewhat carefree face very serious._

"_What the Hell is going on?"_

•••

Harry woke up to the thing he loved most in the world. Fleur was lying in front of him, facing him. Her soft, shallow breaths were soothing, and he relished the vision of true beauty; the person he loved most lying safely in his arms.

_Shit, when did I become so soppy?_

He looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand, and it was almost time for the meeting. He gently caressed Fleur's bare overarm.

"Fleur, it's time to wake up," he softly cooed.

Fleur's response was rubbing her palm on his face.

"Pf–leur, ipfs time to wmke upf," he softly called with an amused smile on his face.

Fleur's eyes fluttered open, and when she saw him, she smiled tiredly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Morning," she breathed out and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "What time is it?"

"Six in the evening," Harry chuckled. "We've got to be at Grimmauld Place at seven."

Fleur hummed as she rolled around and slowly got out of bed, her naked form stretching in front of Harry who fell just a little more in love with the beautiful woman in front of him. He got up as well, and pressed himself tightly against her from behind, his arms snaking themselves around her midsection.

"Let's shower," he mumbled in her ear and pulled her towards the bathroom.

"Let's," she returned with a wide smile and adoring eyes.

•••

Harry and Fleur appeared in front of a series of houses at Grimmauld Place, their hands interlinked and Harry standing woozily on his feet. He much preferred his own method of instantaneous travel, but apparition could take one anywhere within the world, and he wanted to learn it. His own could take him a hundred kilometres at most, but going anywhere in the world could be very useful.

"Remember the address Meerlinda showed you," Harry muttered in Fleur's ear before he swayed a little away again.

Fleur closed her eyes and focused, and soon, the house they were looking for, Number Twelve, was right in front of them.

"Good," Harry said and took some drunken steps forward, making Fleur laugh as she stood completely still. "What? I'm not used to it, okay? Besides, my senses are superhumanly strong, it's not my fault I get dizzy and motion sick from apparition."

Fleur took his hand as she shook her head with a bemused grin on her lips. She steadied him and led him towards the door. Thankfully, the dizziness ceased just as they entered the house, and Harry just barely avoided tumbling forwards from tripping over the umbrella holder made of a troll's foot. They quietly made their way to the kitchen, so as to not disturb the painting of Sirius' mother. Harry had warned Fleur of it in the bath they had shared. They entered the kitchen, and Harry looked around. Sirius sat at the far end of the table in conversation with Remus. The two looked up, and both paled when they saw Harry and Fleur.

"Evenin', gents," Harry said with a smile. "Miss me?"

The men both slowly stood, and Sirius made his way towards his godson.

"What did I tell Harry about him first time I met him?" Sirius asked cautiously.

"That I had the eyes of a soldier, not a child," Harry responded.

Sirius' eyes teared up and he quickly grabbed Harry in a tight hug. And for the first time, Harry actually enjoyed it, and returned it wholeheartedly. Their conversations the previous year where he had spent some time at Grimmauld Place had brought them closer as godfather and godson, and now, Harry felt the effects of that. He realised that he had been foolish to try and turn Sirius away; he was family, as was Remus. His father's brothers in all but blood. Sirius pulled away and grabbed Harry's cheeks, looking into the boy's eyes. Harry smirked and let them brighten a little to a pale yellow.

"Oh, I've only once been so sad in my life," Sirius mumbled as he pulled Harry in once more. "Don't ever do that again, pup, alright?"

"I won't," Harry said with a smile and a chuckle. "And if I do, I'll make sure to warn you beforehand."

Sirius let go as Remus came up beside him, his eyes locked on Harry. He too pulled Harry into a fierce hug, which was especially strong given his recently–modified werewolf powers.

"It's good to see you again, Harry," Remus muttered.

"You too, Remus."

Remus let go sooner, however, and grabbed both Fleur and Harry before he pulled them with himself and Sirius down to the end of the table.

"How did you survive?" Sirius asked quickly.

"I used to have a magical mark here," he said as he lifted his left sleeve and showed them the underside of his forearm. "It connected my life to that of my guardian, the vampire. When I got stabbed in the heart with that silver spear, she used our connection through it to keep me in a near–dead state until there was no one else present. She then removed the spear and healed me just enough that she could treat me back at our place."

"So you planned to almost die there?" Remus asked.

"No, but I was prepared for it."

Sirius started chuckling and slowly shaking his head.

"Honestly, you have the mind of a Marauder, but you take the stakes to a whole different level."

"Being strong and all is good," Harry said with a smirk, "but it's useless if you don't know how to use it to it's fullest potential. Do you think it was an accident that seven Death Eaters was in the pub I blew up in Knockturn Alley?"

The three others looked between each other, and then shrugged.

"I started killing Death Eaters individually, one every fourth or fifth day. Later, I turned it up to every other day or so. I drove those who realised that Death Eaters were being targeted to congregate in one place to discuss what to do, waited until they were the only ones there, then lit the place up. There is no random element to anything I do, unless there is."

Sirius smiled, just a little confused at the contradiction.

"A right genius, you are."

"Well, my parents were brilliant," Harry smiled.

The quartet sat and waited for others to join them. At one point, Harry suddenly looked wholly different, with blond hair, blue eyes, no scar at all, and a radically different facial structure. He shushed the others with a smile and the simple explanation of "vampire trick," and Fleur just shook her head as Remus and Sirius chuckled lightly. Harry did catch Fleur's small smile, though. Soon, other people came walking in, and they did seem a little confused as to the 'stranger,' but didn't question it. Soon, the adult Weasleys joined, seeming very down. Harry saw Cedric enter as well, looking depressed and having a slightly haunted look about him. No doubt traumatised by what he saw during the final task.

"Aren't the Weasleys living here?" Harry leant over to Sirius and whispered.

Sirius just nodded slightly. Harry noticed that the Weasleys all glared at Fleur, and then he looked down; he was looking radically different, and he and Fleur were holding hands, whilst Fleur was smiling. They had seen her the night before at Harry's funeral service, where she had been devastated. Harry couldn't wait until they watched him drop his façade. He loved tricking people like that, there was just something immensely satisfying about it. Soon even Albus entered, and he also looked a little astonished at seeing the stranger, but he waited until everyone was gathered. Once they were, he cleared his throat.

"As you all know, Harry Potter's funeral was held last night," he began weakly, looking older and more tired than he ever had. Harry actually felt guilty for making Dumbledore so sad, if this was the outcome. "I hope people got to pay their respects. If not, his grave in in the Godric's Hollow cemetery, next to Lily and James'."

"About that," Harry spoke up as he slowly stood. "I don't think that would be necessary."

People glared at him.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked, and for the first time, Harry saw the man actually looking angry. Furious, even, but his voice remained as cool as ever.

"Why Albus…" Harry began, and then his appearance shimmered, and there was a second Dumbledore in the room, "I'm you."

Albus was the first to stand and draw his wand, but Sirius and Remus broke into hysterical laughter.

"Come on, you little prick!" Sirius roared with laughter and kicked Harry on the leg. "Show 'em."

'Dumbledore' sighed, and shimmered once more, before Harry stood in his place with a wide smile.

"Miss me?" he asked with mock–cuteness and fluttering eyelashes. Even Fleur had to suppress a small snigger.

The room was deadly quiet, except for Sirius' and Remus' suppressed laughter.

"Well, come on," Harry said. "You look like you've just seen a gho– well… ghosts aren't _that_ uncommon, I suppose."

No one moved a muscle or said a word, but the laughter only increased from the two old Marauders.

"Okay, **I'm sorry** that I faked my death," Harry apologised with a smile. "I needed the world to think I was really gone. And believe me, grief is really, _really_ hard to sell when you don't feel it."

"Why?" was all that came out of Dumbledore.

Harry's smile faltered, and his face set in a serious façade once more as he sat down.

"Voldemort saw me die, as did his Death Eaters. The fact that my mutilated corpse," he didn't fail to notice Fleur shiver just a little, "made the front–page of the Daily Prophet helped that much more. Voldemort thinks he's taken care of the biggest obstacle, which means he will relax. Since I haven't killed any Death Eaters during my sick–leave," he also didn't fail to notice the sniggers from his father's best friends, "he will take it easy, and seeing their master being so calm will put the Death Eaters at ease as well, meaning they will grow sloppy. For a while, we can't make any overt moves against them, but when we do, I will coordinate it to make a huge impact and shake them to their very cores. Sweep the rug out from under their feet, then strike when they try to regain their balance. If we time it well enough, I estimate that we can take upwards of thirty to forty percent of his forces at once, which aren't that many at the moment. After we do that, Voldemort will be shaken, and seeing their master shaken– well, you know the rest. When we do that, we cut off supply for new Death Eaters by getting the Ministry to impose martial law. Let me take care of that part. With martial law instated on wizarding folk, new recruits will be hard to come by, but that goes for us as well. During the martial law, we'll have to keep a low profile, and I will start picking off Death Eaters one–by–one again. This time, I'll target his lieutenants and captains, his inner circle. If we can destabilise that enough, the rest will scatter, and Voldemort will be left without a powerbase. Whilst he spends time rounding up his Death Eaters again, we will be recruiting as well. I will have infiltrated Hogwarts and try to form a militia from the students there, fifteen and up. I won't expose them to unnecessary risk, but spreading the word that Hogwarts has its own militia to fight against Voldemort, formed by and populated with students who believe Cedric, will start rousing citizens to join our cause. And you, Dumbledore, will help me with the more important bits and _pieces_," Harry stressed the final word whilst lightly scratching his forehead, something Dumbledore definitely noticed, and Dumbledore nodded his head so sneakily that only Harry noticed it.

Dumbledore sat back down and looked at Harry.

"How long do you reckon it will take?"

"A few years. A decade at the absolute most."

Dumbledore seemed to regain a great deal of vigour.

"I knew you were clever, Harry, but this far exceeds my expectations. I will admit, I had not planned this far ahead. And all this from you faking your own death?"

"Had I not been The Boy Who Lived, faking my death would have been absolutely pointless," Harry nodded. "And while it isn't a moniker I wear proudly, I wear it nonetheless, and I will take whatever advantage I can from it." He leant back in his chair, and a sombre expression made its way to his face, and casting a saddened glance at Fleur. "I just want this war to be over. I don't want to lie to people anymore. I don't want to fight anymore." Fleur took his hand comfortingly with a reassuring smile.

"Great men sacrifice for the greater good, Harry," Dumbledore said with a sympathetic expression. "Your parents would have been proud of you, though I will admit, I doubt they would have condoned your… less than legal and moral activities."

"Personal sacrifices must be made in war," Harry countered. "I chose to sacrifice my humanity, my conscience, and my personal safety."

Dumbledore was silent for a little.

"I am overjoyed to see you alive and well," he said quietly.

"I feel the same, Headmaster," Harry said with a smile. He then turned his head to the Weasleys. "I was happy to see you at my funeral. You said some nice things. Thank you."

Arthur, Molly, Bill and Charlie were still processing that he was still alive, but did slowly nod that they had heard his thanks. Harry then quieted and sat back.

"Now, just to be clear, my faked death was a one–off. I was technically mostly dead. If I were to do it again, it would have to be more sleight–of–hand than magic."

"Right. Now that the main topic of the meeting has been so artfully been taken care of by Harry, I want to ask if anyone has any questions. We will hold weekly meetings Saturday afternoon so that Harry can make his way here from Hogwarts. I will see to it that he is enrolled there under a new name. When he isn't out actively going on missions, he will be there as a student to provide him an alibi for any illicit activities. There is also a Ministry official coming to Hogwarts to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. Her name is Dolores Umbridge."

Harry groaned in his chair, making everyone looking at him.

"What is it?" Dumbledore asked.

"Dolores Jane Umbridge is a half–blooded bureaucrat, member of the Wizengamot and Senior Undersecretary to Fudge himself," Harry began. "She started her political career as an intern in the Improper Use of Magic Office just after leaving Hogwarts. Before 30, she became the Head of the Office with her ruthless and tyrannical leadership. She also took credit for other people's work, so that explains some. Back in '93, she also drafted the anti–werewolf legislation we have today, which makes it hard for sufferers of lycanthropy to have any meaningful or stable jobs, seeing as the legislation prevents them from having full–time employment. Last year she also campaigned that merpeople be rounded up and tagged, though that idea was scrapped due to it being too damn crazy, no one would get behind it and support it. It's all because of her hatred for half–breeds, and I personally just can't stand the cunt."

Everyone stared at him.

"You're well–informed," Dumbledore commented.

"I do my homework on Ministry officials," Harry said with a sour look. "And I will bet you a hundred galleons the Ministry forced her on you."

"Had I participated in such a bet, I would have lost," Dumbledore smiled. "With your skills in intelligence–gathering, I would like you to keep an eye on her, as well as try to stay notified about anything meaningful going on in the Ministry if you can."

"Sure," Harry replied with a nod. "I'll make sure you receive bi–weekly reports."

"Bi–weekly?" a little cretin of a human Harry assumed to be Mundungus Fletcher piped up.

"Once every other week," Bill stated.

"Right," Harry said. "My guardian turned a few Ministry workers to work for her when she first discovered the wizarding world. She doesn't like not being informed, especially when it comes to me," Harry couldn't help the little smile. "Since then, we've received weekly reports, stored in a chronological catalogue in our chantry. I'll make sure to send you relevant copies," Harry directed at Dumbledore.

"Much appreciated," the old wizard replied.

"But why go back to Hogwarts?" Charlie Weasley asked. "What good will you do on the outside when you're locked in there?"

Harry quieted, and everyone picked up on the deadly serious vibe he gave off.

"Umbridge has a… colourful reputation, amongst the junior members of the Office for Improper Use of Magic. She talks in a light, polite–seeming voice, she offers chocolates and tea with enough sugar to cover a lifetime supply, and she tries to act like a kindly aunt," Harry said, but his eyes darkened. "But the seniors carry scars from their time under her, literally." There were a few whispers. "She is very liberal in dealing out physical punishment, most notably through a blood quill."

"But they're illegal," Tonks spoke up.

"Indeed they are," Harry nodded, "but my sources in the Ministry tell me she has at least five. She's also been noted to be rough in handling children. I think she will treat the students at Hogwarts as she would her Ministry juniors. And if she does, I have to be there to help the children who will inevitably incur her wrath. She is cruel, spiteful, and draconian in her methods. If it should ever cross a taboo line… I will be sure to pour a little strychnine into her sugar pot."

Arthur and Molly seemed particularly upset.

"I'm going to Hogwarts to make sure she doesn't turn it into a Ministry brainwashing facility, and to make sure she doesn't harm the students beyond repair, whether physically, mentally or emotionally."

"What's strychnine?" Sirius asked.

"A colourless, bitter, and highly toxic crystalline alkaloid synthesised from the nuts and seeds of _strychnos nux–vomica_, the 'Strychnine tree'," Harry said. "It's mostly used in pesticide for small vermin, but a teaspoon will leave her convulsing and dying by asphyxiation. I have plenty, I just need good reason to use it. And I really hope she doesn't give me one."

The room was deadly quiet, and Fleur was gently rubbing Harry's hands lovingly.

"Would that conclude this meeting?" Harry asked. "There are some kids upstairs I'd like to greet."

Dumbledore smiled warmly and winked at him.

"Go on. I will finish the meeting."

Harry returned the gesture, then quickly kissed Fleur on the cheek before he bounced past most of the members. He briefly stopped to pat every male Weasley on the shoulder, and then kissed Molly on the top of her head, before he leapt out upstairs, eliciting some chuckles out of the Order members. He wasn't technically a member. Just a consultant and active supporter, really. Harry did notice the moment he stepped out that he had stepped on something. Looking down, he saw… _an ear attached to a string_? He looked up to see the shocked faces of Hermione and the Weasley children.

"'Sup?" he asked as he slowly made his way upstairs. "Hear anythin' interestin'?"

None of them moved at seeing him. He just stood with an awkward smile on his face.

"Well, this isn't awkward at all," he said and stepped upstairs, looking into the rooms on the floor for the biggest one. When he found it, he headed inside. When they didn't follow, he poked his head out. "You comin'?"

As he stood in the room, the pack of kids scrambled inside, not believing their eyes. Harry looked around a little, waiting for someone to say something.

"Harry?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Yea?" Harry asked with a calm face.

"Mate?"

"Yea?" Harry looked at their faces, and then sobered a little. "Right, if you want to take a swing at me, I completely understand." He squared his shoulders and spread his legs a little. "Give it your best shot, I won't hit back."

Everyone else was surprised when Ron actually swung his fist at Harry, and it connected forcefully with his face. Harry had to admit, Ron could actually pack quite a punch. He turned his head back, but was surprised and shocked when Ron had quickly grabbed him in a tight hug, his shoulders shaking and tears rolling down his cheeks.

"You're a bloody prick, mate. You know that?" his voice quivered, and Harry embraced the teen back with a sad smile.

"I know, mate. I promise I'll let you know if I do something like it again."

Harry stood and rubbed Ron's back as the taller, red–haired boy unloaded his pent–up grief and sorrow on his best mate. Hermione teared up at the sight, and Harry extended his arm in a silent invitation. Hermione quickly wrapped herself up in the group hug.

"I'm sorry, guys," Harry said calmly. "I'm sorry. War and all that."

He stood and gratefully comforted them until the hadn't anymore tears to shed, and they stepped back rubbing their red and swollen eyes.

"So, what's happening?" Harry asked.

"A lot of crying," Ginny commented. "A lot of alone–time, for everyone. A lot of cleaning as well, Mum's been working us like house–elves to put this place in good shape."

Harry was positively surprised at her matured and calmer attitude. They'd grown distant after Harry had made his promise to Arthur, but Harry still wanted to be on good terms with her. He then looked to the twins, who seemed much quieter than usual, but they were smiling a little at seeing Harry.

"I've actually put a little thought into the two of you," Harry said and slowly walked around Hermione and Ron.

"Us?" they asked in unison.

"Yes. I have decided that I want to invest in your joke shop," Harry proclaimed and snapped his fingers, and a stack of papers instantly dropped into his hands, easily a hundred pages thick. "I've made a business plan for you to follow, if you want to accept my investment. It involves safety gear, security procedures, things like that. I've also made inquiries as to locations, under disguise of course, and I think I've found the perfect spot. It's a corner shop–building in the centre of Diagon Alley, with room upstairs for an apartment. It has been bought and is being furnished with beds, closets, kitchen, and everything else necessary as we speak."

The twins looked at Harry like he were a madman.

"Harry, mate, you didn't ha–"

"I know I didn't. I wanted to. I think people need a good laugh in the times to come. In the contract you're holding there's also a clause stating that I will hold shares in the company and receive seven percent of your monthly revenue, after taxes, when you open the shop. It's a win–win situation."

Harry winked at them and turned back to his best friends.

"I'll be returning to Hogwarts under a different name, and with a different appearance, of course. I'll be going undercover in the Slytherin House as Jack Evans, so when we get back to school, try not to talk to me too much. I'll approach you, and you can start trying to talk to me, we'll slowly become friends, again," he added with a small smile, "and then when that happens, there will be something I need your assistance with. I'll inform you more of it later. Suffice it to say, you're both going to play a major part in the war, even if you're not on the frontlines."

Harry placed a hand on both Hermione and Ron's shoulders.

"It's important, and I couldn't think of better people to help me with it. You're going to act as my cover, though. People can't know of my direct involvement, so I will essentially become to you what Voldemort becomes to the Ministry; the chessmaster, if you will."

They were silent for a little, until Ron piped up with a small grin.

"But I'm better at chess than you are."

Hermione and the Weasleys couldn't keep straight faces, and neither could Harry. Soon, the whole room was laughing.

"That, you are," Harry finally said after they had calmed down. "Anyway, I need to go downstairs and talk to a few people before they leave. I'll be back soon."

Harry then left the laughing and chuckling children behind as he headed downstairs. The meeting seemed to have just ended, and Harry quickly caught sight of Cedric.

"Cedric," Harry said, and the addressed man turned to look at him. "How are you?"

When Cedric looked at Harry, Harry caught the haunted look of horror again, but it soon gave way to a smile as Cedric walked over to Harry.

"I've been better," he mumbled and shook Harry's hand. "I haven't been able to sleep since… you know." He then looked at Harry for a little while. "You knew it would take us to the graveyard. That's why you were running so hard to try and get it before I did."

"I was really hoping to spare you that," Harry nodded grimly. "I'm sorry, Cedric. I should have stunned you or jinxed you. I should have stopped you. I just… didn't want to hurt you."

"Right," Cedric nodded as well. "Well, you sent me away as soon as we got there. You tried your best to protect me. If it hadn't been for you, I'd 've…"

"Yeah. I had to get you out of there. You were innocent, you're good and kind. You shouldn't have had to be there to get murdered."

"Well, you saved me, and I owe you. If I can ever help you with anything, you let me know, okay?"

"Right," Harry said with a smile.

Cedric smiled back and headed out of the door to the outside. Harry then went into the kitchen, where he saw Kingsley Shacklebolt right next to the door.

"Hey, Kingsley," Harry muttered and walked close to the auror, "there's something I'd like you to look into."

"Yes?" the man replied in his deep, dark voice so characteristic of an authority figure.

"Peter Pettigrew is supposed to be in Azkaban, right?" Kingsley nodded. "He was in the graveyard that night of the final task." Kingsley's eyes narrowed a little. "Could you poke around the Ministry and figure out what the Hell he was doing away from Azkaban?"

"Of course, Harry. I'll look into it."

"Thanks," Harry said and clapped the man on the arm. "Be as discreet as possible, there are still Death Eaters in the Ministry. If they get wind of your inquiry, they'll likely come knocking. Take care of yourself, alright?"

Kingsley nodded with a smile, and then left the kitchen as well. Harry walked over to Dumbledore next, and pulled aside the man into a corner.

"I've been thinking about the horcruxes," Harry said, earning a small nod from Dumbledore, "and I think it's highly likely that there is one at Hogwarts. You once mentioned that Riddle came back at, what, nineteen? To ask for a job?" Dumbledore nodded again. "I think he might have taken that opportunity to hide one in the castle. It would be the only way to legitimately enter Hogwarts with as little suspicion as possible, and he likely knew the castle better than anyone else, at least of his time."

"I think that idea has a lot of merit, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. "I will keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary when I walk the halls, and I would appreciate if you did the same."

Harry nodded and patted Albus on the upper arm, earning him a kindly smile.

"You are frighteningly clever and wise, Harry. It will serve you well in your life."

"Write me up for fifth year Slytherin, Jack Evans," Harry muttered as well. "No one would suspect the 'Golden Boy' to go there under any circumstances."

Harry smiled and headed over to Fleur and the old Marauders again. He sat down and took Fleur's hand with a smile.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts, but you'll be safe in the chantry. There's plenty of reading material, and the house–elf Dobby will make sure you're well–fed and that your clothes get washed. If you need clothes or anything else, I'll make sure there's enough money for you. There's a gym as well, so you can get daily exercise."

Fleur nodded with a sad smile.

"Now, be warned, time moves differently in there," Harry turned serious. "You can read a thousand–page book in the time it takes for a person on the outside to walk ten metres. But you will age more slowly in there as well. I just don't know how it affects our baby."

Sirius and Remus' eyes widened.

"Your baby?" Sirius muttered.

Harry smiled at them.

"Fleur's pregnant," he said with a smile that could light up the darkest void.

Remus jumped from his chair, as did Harry, and the older man grabbed his 'nephew' in a tight embrace.

"Oh, congratulations Harry!" he muttered as he chuckled in joy.

Fleur stood as well, and was enveloped in a warm embrace by Sirius. The four let go, and Remus embraced Fleur as Harry embraced Sirius.

"I'm so happy for you, pup!" Sirius muttered and released Harry, only to place his hands on his godson's cheeks. A few tears of joy rolled down his face. "I wish Lily and James could be here to meet their grandchild."

Harry then looked at Fleur, who nodded. He turned back to Sirius.

"If it's a boy, his name's going to be James Sirius," he said proudly, making more tears roll down his godfather's face as the older man used his sleeve to wipe them away. "If it's a girl, her name'll be Lily Victoire."

Remus also had a few tears going down his face as he reassuringly squeezed Sirius' shoulder. And then Harry turned to Remus.

"And we would like you to be his or her godfather, Remus." Remus' eyes widened. "Being my child, he or she will likely inherit lycanthropic abilities. If anything were to happen to Fleur and I, you would be the best–suited to take care of him or her," Harry grinned at his repetitive gender–neutrality. "And I know you would be a great guardian."

Remus nodded, too moved for words, and pulled the two youngsters into an embrace.

"I'll do my best," he whispered, as Harry and Fleur gently returned the embrace.

"We know you will," Fleur muttered with a happy smile.

For the first time he could ever recall, Harry truly felt like he was a part of a family. And that feeling was beyond anything he could describe with anything less than tears of joy and happiness.

Revelations

Harry and Fleur sat in the chantry late at night, going over Harry's school supplies.

"New Slytherin robes?" Fleur asked as she read off the list they had put together for his fifth (third) year.

"Check."

"The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk?"

"Check."

"Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Check."

"New wand?"

"Check."

"Why do you need a new wand, anyway?" Fleur asked as she put down the list, having checked off all the boxes. "Yours works perfectly fine."

"Yeah, _mine_ does," Harry said, and then suddenly shimmered, before he appeared as a brown–haired boy with blue eyes and slightly coloured skin. "And that's the thing; people have seen my wand. _Jack Evans_ can't be seen swinging around _Harry Potter_'s wand."

"No one will notice," Fleur said as she kissed his cheek before standing up.

"_Someone_ will," Harry countered. "Anything that _can_ go wrong _will_ go wrong."

"That is undeniably true," came a voice from the entrance, and James Evans came down into the chantry, but stopped with slightly wide eyes when he saw Harry. "Harry, why do you look like me?"

"I'm going to Hogwarts as your son," Harry said indifferently. "After I faked my death, I can't very well show up at Hogwarts as myself, can I?"

James looked at him for a few seconds, before shrugging and going on his way.

"Who is he?" Fleur whispered.

"My mentor, James Evans," Harry explained. "He's a muggleborn wizard who works for the Auror's Office in MACUSA. He's transferred to Britain to be close to me, so why not place his son in Hogwarts, eh?" Harry muttered with a smile and quickly kissed Fleur on the lips. "God, I can't get enough of you!"

Fleur giggled as Harry stood up and walked towards the library. He soon returned with a small stack of books, including a little black one Fleur found eye–catching. It had silver letters on the front she didn't recognise. Harry placed the stack on the table, but he picked up the little book and headed in the same direction as James. Fleur shrugged and looked over the books, interested in what Harry was bringing to read.

Harry walked into the kitchen where James was making a cup of tea.

"Rough day at the office?" Harry asked as he started making Fleur and himself tea as well.

"It was alright," James shrugged and took a sip. "We apprehended a troublemaker selling faulty broomsticks. It was quite fun watching him sweat when we questioned him."

Harry nodded and opened the Hebrew Bible he had brought with him.

"You considering religion?" James smirked.

"I was hoping you could help me with something," Harry said as he opened it to the page he had marked. "Genesis 14:5."

"Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain will be punished sevenfold?" the older man quoted sassily, but his smirk faltered just a little.

"I'm more interested in this," Harry said and pulled up his right sleeve, showing James the mark on his arm. "You know what it is?"

James looked closely and shook his head.

"I can try and see if I can find something in the lore," James muttered as he examined the mark. "You think it's the Mark of Cain, don't you?"

"Why else would I have the _Hebrew_ word for 'mark' on my arm?" Harry said.

"Fair point," James nodded. "I'll see what I can dig up."

"Thanks," Harry said as he let go of his sleeve and took the cups of tea with him as he left.

He didn't notice the somewhat ashamed and nervous expression on James' face as he scratched his own lower right arm.

•••

Harry and Fleur laid in bed, talking about sweet nothings.

"I've never actually been to France," he admitted.

"You would love it, I'm sure," Fleur replied with a smile. "We could go to Lille, Paris, Marseilles."

"I could take you to Rome," Harry added. "Or Florence, or Barcelona. Maybe Tokyo, or Moscow, or New Delhi."

"I would like to see the world," she nodded and snuggled against his chest. "But I would rather stay in Britain if I couldn't bring you along."

"I'd rather live in France if I couldn't get you to stay here after the war," Harry returned. "I don't want to live without you, Fleur. Not you, or our baby."

Fleur smiled happily as Harry caressed her bare shoulder and kissed her forehead.

"It's so strange to think we only met this past October," she muttered. "I feel like I have loved you my whole life."

Harry was silent as he looked into the ceiling, clearly arguing with himself.

"What is it?" she asked carefully.

He didn't respond for a while.

"I grew up down here," Harry said. "In this chantry. When I was five, in calendar years, I was already around ninety or a hundred years down here, really. When I was ten, the time dilation had been adjusted to be even faster, so I was technically three hundred. The summer I met you, it was turned up even more because my body had aged less than it conceivably should have. So when I left for Hogwarts in September… I was almost seven hundred."

Fleur lifted her head and looked at him with concern.

"Thanks to the highly experimental and unstable time dilation, I've spent several lifetimes down here, doing nothing but reading, training… preparing. Studying. I'm already literal centuries ahead of you and everyone else in terms of everything other than wizardry. And it just… the time we've spent together… it feels like an eternity to me."

Fleur kissed his throat.

"You're an old man, then," she muttered throatily. "I should be disgusted, really."

Harry couldn't help the bellowing laughter at her comment.

"You should," he agreed. "But you aren't."

"Absolutely not," she whispered in his ear, and he felt her hand reach under the duvet and slowly caress him in a very sensitive place.

"You are such a pervert, going for older men like that," he muttered and let his own hand slide under the covers as well as they kissed. "Is it for the money or the fame?"

She giggled into his mouth, and Harry quickly pushed himself up over her and ran his hand from her cheek down over her clavicle, soon landing on her right breast and massaging it lovingly.

"You're mine," he growled almost ferally.

"And you're mine," she returned with a moan.

"You're God damned right."

•••

September came around, and James, Harry, and Fleur made their way by car to King's Cross. James and Harry exchanged hugs, but Harry and Fleur moved off to a little secluded area and furiously showed their love for each other.

"I'm going to miss you," Fleur breathed as Harry nibbled on the side of her neck.

"I'm going to miss you too," Harry mumbled against her skin before capturing her lips again. "Try to practice your English. It would be helpful to be able to pass as a native when you're out."

"Like how you speak, what, thirteen languages?" she moaned as he moved his lips to her clavicle.

"Seventeen," he corrected her before he unsheathed his fangs and pierced her neck, sending a shudder through her body as she tensed up, held him tighter, and moaned as her hips ground against his.

As she came down from her euphoric high, Harry retracted his fangs and licked her throat, closing the wounds he had made. He then looked into her eyes with a longing and sadness she had never seen in him before.

"I love you, Fleur Delacour," he muttered.

"I love you too," she returned. "Always."

Harry nodded, and then his appearance shimmered before he appeared as Jack Evans, newly transferred American. They walked back to James with some depression and despair.

"I'll come and visit when I can," Harry said, his voice a little darker and speaking with a perfect North–American dialect. "Dumbledore's connected his fireplace with the one in the living room through the Floo Network. It won't be very often, but I will find the time. Especially when it's time for us to become parents."

Fleur smiled and pecked his lips again, before she got in the car with James. She waved at Harry as they pulled away from the train station. Harry then turned around and headed into the station with his trunk. He saw a lot of students with cats and owls and clearly mismatched muggle clothes. He was shocked at just how bad they were at blending in with muggles, and couldn't fathom how the Statue of Secrecy was maintained with idiots like these around. When he came down to the space between platform nine and ten, he saw the Weasleys going about their business getting to 9 ¾. Harry couldn't help the smile as he made his way towards them.

"Ah, hello there," he said and rubbed the back of his head with feigned embarrassment. "I only recently came to the country because my dad got a job here, and I got a letter to go to Hogwarts," he began, and the redheads seemed to calm down considerably. "But the letter forgot to mention how to get to the train. King's Cross doesn't have a platform…" he looked at the letter he'd fished out of his pocket, "Nine–and–Three–Quarters?"

Arthur chuckled lightly, as did the other Weasleys.

"Don't you worry about that, dear boy," he said merrily. "We'll show you how to get there."

"Thank you very much, Mr…"

"Arthur Weasley."

"Mr Weasley. I'm Jack Evans."

Arthur and Harry shook hands, both wearing wide smiles, and the woman stretched out her hand as well.

"Molly, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley."

Ron came over.

"I don't think we've met," he said with a small laugh. "I'm Ron."

"Nice to meet you, Ron," Harry said and shook the boy's offered hand.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the brown–haired girl called.

"Nice to meet you."

Harry followed the Weasleys to the train and boarded with them, waving to their parents and the Grangers as the train pulled out of the station. The Weasleys and Harry were the only ones inhabiting the compartment, allowing them to speak freely.

"So, my best mate is dead, and an American Slytherin prick has taken his place," Ron summed up with a small nod and smile. "Sounds like things are the way they should be."

That sent the compartment into laughter. It died down rather quickly, and very good that it did, because just a few minutes after, Neville opened the compartment door. The Weasleys and Hermione put on depressed expressions, and Fred and George stood and pushed past Neville, giving him place to sit with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny.

"Hey guys," he said, quite muted. "You okay?"

"I doubt we ever really will be," Hermione quietly stated.

Harry internally commended his friends for being quite good actors.

"Right," Neville said and took a seat across from Harry. "I'm... Neville Longbottom," the boy nervously said and extended a hand.

"Jack Evans," Harry returned and shook the boy's hand. "So, why are people in such a bad mood?"

Ron and Hermione glared at him, but he knew it wasn't because he was insensitive; it was because if they didn't have a little self–control, they would crack up. But Harry wanted them to be able to handle such situations, as they would be sure to arrive. Of course, during the school year, they could ease up, knowing that grief took time to process, but could pass.

"Er... a school mate... died," Neville threw his eyes down in shame. Now, respectful demeanour, _that_ Harry could have understood, but _shame_?

"Why are you ashamed about that?" Harry asked. "Did you kill him?"

"Merlin, NO!" Neville erupted. "No, it's just... he tried helping me in classes a few times, but when I found out what... I kinda pushed him away."

Harry scrutinised the timid Gryffindor, but didn't push it further and pulled out one of the new textbooks, the one assigned to DADA. _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard.

"Is that the new book?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Harry shrugged and kept reading it.

Hermione noticed that he had opened it at a bookmark towards the end.

"You're almost done?"

"Yeah."

"How is it?"

Harry looked at her, then at Neville and Ron who both shrugged, and back to her.

"It's shit."

Ron sniggered, as did Neville, despite the charade of grief.

"We– wha– It–" Hermione stammered, flustered, causing Neville and Ron to giggle.

"I mean, there's nothing about practice in this waste of money," Harry said. "It's _all_ about theory. It's like an instruction guide to sex written by ninety–five–year–old nun who grew up in a convent."

That comment was the final _piece de resistance_ which, when removed, made Neville and Ron break into all–out laughter.

"Well, theory is important too."

"Yeah, I don't deny that. But it's useless when you can't use it for anything."

Hermione huffed and turned to look out the window with her arms crossed, making Neville and Ron almost cry in laughter.

"Ah, you're alright, mate!" Ron exclaimed. "Ah, so what house're you in?"

"The letter said Slytherin," Harry mused. "Is that good?"

Neville stopped laughing almost immediately, but Ron took a little while to do so as well.

"Ah, it's fine," he said and smiled. "Been a while since we had a Snake that wasn't bigoted."

"Snake?"

"Yeah, it's their animal. We're Gryffindors, ours is a lion. Then there's Hufflepuff who have a badger, and Ravenclaw has a raven."

"Ron, the Ravenclaw animal is an eagle," Hermione corrected him.

Ron looked genuinely surprised.

"Then why's it called Ravenclaw?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe something to do with Rowena Ravenclaw's life, I guess."

"Eagles are a symbol for a broader vision, and strength of mind and heart," Harry spoke out. "Values that Ravenclaw held. The blue and bronze in their crest symbolise air and eagle feathers, respectively, with air itself being a representative of wisdom."

The people in the compartment looked at Harry with somewhat surprised stares.

"What? I read _Hogwarts: A History_ this summer. Among other things."

"Right," Ron muttered, and then turned to Neville. "So hey, I was wondering if…"

The rest of the train ride was spent with Ron, Neville and Hermione talking as Harry finished the new DADA book.

_This is utter garbage. What are you getting at, Umbridge?_

A New Year

The students soon reached the school and went to the feast. Harry waved at his friends and Neville as he turned to the Slytherin table after looking around to feign taking note of where he was supposed to go. He sat down next to a boy he didn't recognise, most likely a sixth or seventh year student.

"What were you doing with the Mudblood, the dork and the blood–traitor?" he asked with a venomous tone.

"Who?" Harry asked with a confused face.

"Granger, the Weasel and Longbottom."

"Oh," Harry said with feigned surprise. "Well, I met them on the train. Nice folks. Why'd you ask?"

"We don't mingle with the Lions. Should'a learn– wait… who are you?"

"Oh, Jack Evans," Harry said with a smile and held out his hand. "I just transferred here from America cause my dad got work here."

"America?" the boy asked, then seemed to pump himself up a little. "Well, stick with me and I'll show you the ropes. I'm Graham Montague."

"Ah, thanks," Harry said with a smile.

"Just don't hang out with Mudblood and Weasel, they're the golden trio. Well, duo now!" the boy laughed.

"What happened to the third?"

"Filthy half–breed got himself killed. Harry Potter, you know."

"Oh, him!" Harry exclaimed. "Yea, my dad told me stories bout him."

"Yeah? What'd he tell you?"

"He told me that he defeated Voldemort when he was just a toddler, and saved Wizarding Britain from darkness."

The boy snorted.

"Got in the way, that's what he did. And don't say the Dark Lord's name. It's disrespectful."

"Well, it's just a name. Besides, he's gone now, right?"

"Nah, he came back last year," the boy said proudly. "This is my last year, and when I'm done, I'm joining him."

"That's awful!" Harry exclaimed. "You WANT to kill and torture people!?"

The boy quickly got angry at that.

"The Dark Lord's gonna purge the filth from wizard–kind and bring a new era of pure blood! The muggles will get what they've got coming! And you'd best shut up about right and wrong, you don't know what that means, and you're in Slytherin! Watch out, or you might make a lot of enemies."

Harry shook his head and looked up at the headmaster delivering his speech. Harry caught Albus quickly winking at him, and covertly winked back. Soon, Harry was partaking in the feast, and settled down to hear announcements for the school year.

"And, a thorough surprise, we have a guest tutor at Hogwarts this year, in the spirit of international cooperation!" Dumbledore exclaimed.

_Hmm, said the same about the Tournament last year._

"Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour!"

Harry spat out the pumpkin juice he'd been drinking, making the immediately surrounding people scowl at him. His eyes were wide and fixed on Fleur who came out from the door to the trophy room behind the hall.

_What!?_

Harry's heart started beating quickly, and his breathing picked up. He couldn't believe it, he couldn't FUCKING believe it! What was she doing!?

"I'm looking forward to helping you with your studies this year," Fleur spoke with a smile, but she was selling her grief well. "I will also be holding a duelling club, which will begin at a date to be announced."

Harry didn't fail to notice how well her English had improved, but then again, throughout the remainder of the summer he had spent with her, they had only spoken in French. His immediate concern was still valid, however.

"As most of you know, with the exception of the new first years, congratulations," she added quickly with a small smile, "I was the Beauxbatons champion in the Triwizard Tournament last school year. And during my stay here, I befriended a very special man. He always told me how much he loved being here, how much he loved his friends here. But… as you also know…" she was beginning to tear up just a little, "he didn't… survive it. So, in honour, respect, memory and love of him, I chose to accept Professor Dumbledore's offer to counsel, tutor and teach you all. I hope you will be kind to me."

Harry would admit, she was a bloody good actor! If she was as good a saleswoman as she was an actor, she could sell a poor man his own toaster, even if he had seen her take it out of his house! Harry joined the rest of the school, the Slytherin not included, in the applause she received, which made her blush just a little, and she took a seat next to McGonagall who smiled a little and gently took Fleur's hand and whispered to her.

"That was it for tonight. Prefects, guide your new first years to their common rooms and dormitories. That is all. Good night."

Harry got up and quickly exited the Great Hall. When a Slytherin girl, likely third or fourth year, came by, he quickly got the password to the Slytherin common room from her, and then he waited in the corner of the Entrance Hall. Ron and Hermione came out and sent him a confused look, but he shook his head and sent them on their way. He waited until no more students came out, and the teachers left. McGonagall, looked at him for a little, but ignored him, likely figuring that, as a Slytherin, it was Snape's job to scold him, as the potionsmaster would leave the Hall soon, anyway. Fleur came out the Hall, and Harry quickly grabbed her by the hand and pulled her outside into the night.

"What's going on!?" he asked her. He even forgot to speak in French.

"Dumbledore asked if I wanted to come to Hogwarts to be a tutor and teacher," she said and pushed him against the façade of the castle. "I said yes."

"Fleur, you don't have the luxury of thinking only about yourself anymore!" Harry said. "You count for two people now!"

"I'm pregnant, so what!?" she hissed back.

"There are Death Eater kids here!" he whisper–shouted back. "When you start showing, people will know, and there is no doubt in my mind that Voldemort would want our baby to die!"

"But he thinks you're dead!"

"He will erase any trace of me left on the planet if he gets his way! Mine and my parents' graves, our house in Godric's Hollow, my name from the history books, everything! As far as he knows, he has a clean–up job to do, and killing my child would certainly go a long ways to do that!"

"**Our** child, Harry!"

"I know it is, Fleur, but to him, I'm all that matters! Harry Potter must die, Harry Potter needs to be wiped out, Harry Potter this and Harry Potter that! If, by some miracle, people **do **believe that you hooked up with someone in the summer, which is extremely doubtful to even Malfoy," Fleur did grin for a moment at that, "then fine! Brilliant, it is lovely to see you! But I'd rather be away from you and you were in the safest place on Earth, than I would be close to you, and you'd be in danger!"

Fleur brought Harry's lips to her own, and Harry clutched her like she was a raft, helping him stay afloat in a stormy ocean.

"I want nothing more than to be with you, but not like this!" Harry said. "It's too dangerous!"

"What's done is done, Harry," Fleur said. "If I were gone come morning a _lot_ of questions would be asked. I might be able to get away for maternity leave when I get closer to term, but for now, I have to stay."

Harry stared into her eyes, his own frowning and troubled, but he reluctantly nodded.

"Alright. But I will place a mark on you so that I know where you are at all times, and so that I know if you get injured. That is non–negotiable."

Fleur nodded and held Harry's hands, their fingers intertwined.

"Fine."

Harry leant in and kissed Fleur lovingly, before he reluctantly pulled away and headed inside. Fleur stood in the same spot, her eyes closed as she felt bad. Not about what she had done, but that she had made Harry worry so much because she didn't tell him beforehand. She knew he just wanted her and their growing child safe, but he couldn't confine her to a dungeon in London. She wouldn't have it. She sighed and headed inside as well, going to her room to go to sleep so that she could get up early and start preparing a tutor program, as well as the specifics of the duelling club.

•••

Harry was up in the Great Hall bright and early eating his breakfast with one hand and reading _A Study in Scarlet_ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle with the other. He was sitting at the Slytherin table, trying to fit his role. It felt uncomfortable to him, but undercover espionage was rarely comfortable, anyway. He saw Fleur as the first other person to enter, and she sent him an apologetic smile. He returned it just as apologetically, and then went back to reading and eating. The second person to enter was Severus Snape, who had been informed of Harry's trick, and his new cover. The man looked at him, then looked out to see if anyone was coming, which Harry rather doubted, seeing as it was just past five in the morning. Severus then quickly walked towards him.

"Are you sure this is wise, Potter?" he asked as he bent over the table with his palms placed on it, his face in a menacing frown. "Someone might uncover the truth a–"

"I have it covered, Severus," Harry muttered and put down his toast and book. "But I would like to have a talk with you."

Severus looked stunned at the use of his first name, looked around, and then sat down.

"Albus informed me about your past with my parents this summer," Harry began, making Severus about to speak, but Harry held up his hand. "I get it. My dad and Sirius bullied you and made school Hell. You were best friends with my mother until you slipped and made a mistake, I get it. But I don't think that should affect how we interact, Severus. I'll admit, I really didn't like you the past two years, but try and see it from my side; you treat me like shit, badmouth me, call me names, and I haven't the faintest clue what I ever did to you, as I'd never met you. But I get it now. And I want us both to make peace with the past, and give each other a clean slate, seeing as we're both Dumbledore's men, through and through. And I won't ever forget that you are trying desperately to make up for leading Voldemort to me. I'm willing to offer you that redemption, if you're willing to put Harry Potter ahead of James Potter. I'm not Harry Potter, and you're not Severus Snape. I'm Harry, and you're Severus. Can you do that?"

Severus stared long and hard at Harry, but his gaze eventually softened, if only a little.

"I will try," he muttered.

"That's all I can ask," Harry returned and picked his book back up.

Severus then left without another word. Fleur looked at him, then at Harry, who smiled, in turn making her smile. Harry finished his breakfast and back to his dorm to get his things for class. Fortunately, the Slytherins had individual bedrooms, something Harry felt was very fitting of the 'noble and pure–blooded' wizards of the British Isles. He obviously liked it for himself, seeing as he could just lock himself in his room when he wanted. He came back to the Great Hall to pick up his schedule from Severus, who made sure to explain where the different classes were, as there were other Slytherin nearby. Harry thanked the man with a smile and headed towards the DADA classroom.

_Let's see what you're going to do, Umbridge._

Harry thought back to her speech the other night, as she so rudely had interrupted Dumbledore. Dumbledore hadn't cut her off in return, obviously, as he was far too polite for that.

"_The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching. Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts have brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. Then again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."_

_So, you intend to reshape Hogwarts to your desirable vision, eh Dolores?_

Harry was acutely aware of what she was saying. She was saying, in the bureaucratic language Meerlinda had drilled into Harry, that the Ministry believed Hogwarts was becoming stagnant in it's teaching of students, but also that the 'ancient families', meaning pure–bloods, should be the only ones taught. She was basically spouting Salazar Slytherin's vision for Hogwarts.

_Well, she was a Slytherin herself._

Harry found a desk in the corner of the room, away from others. As people milled in, he saw his old housemates, as well as his new ones. Whilst most Gryffindors didn't even glance at him, Ron, Hermione, and shockingly Neville, all waved at him with small smiles, and he returned the gestures. The three received deadly stares from their fellow Gryffindors, but they all ignored them.

_Neville's grown some backbone. Nice!_

Harry was liking Neville's change. Soon, Malfoy and his gang entered, saw Harry, and sat around him.

"You're the new one, right?" Malfoy asked with a smug smile.

"Yeah," Harry returned.

"Draco Malfoy, nice to meet you," he stuck out his hand, and Harry shook it as a pure formality. "So, what family are you from?"

"The Evans's?" Harry said with a fake confusion.

"Never heard of them," Malfoy admitted. "You're pure–blooded, right?"

"Both my parents are Muggle–born," Harry said.

Malfoy and his cronies immediately recoiled and Malfoy wiped his hand in his robes.

"But you're in Slytherin!"

"I guess," Harry shrugged.

The group got up and moved away from Harry, who looked after them sourly and went back to read his novel. To his quite honest surprise, they weren't the only group who moved; so did Ron, Hermione and Neville… and they took the seats surrounding his.

"Sorry about that, mate," Ron muttered. "They're bloody bigoted."

"It's fine," Harry muttered with a smile. "Thanks, though."

They fell silent as the room filled, and Umbridge entered from her office.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

_Defence Against the Dark Arts_

_A Return to Basic Principles_

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory–centred, Ministry–approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:

_Course aims:_

_1\. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic._

_2\. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used._

_3\. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

_Cunt._

Harry hadn't written down anything, nor had he pulled out his book and opened it. He remembered enough to be able to answer practically any question, or at least know the rough page–count to find the information he needed. He was surprised to see Hermione not even opening the book herself. She just sat with her hand raised in the air for minutes on end, and when half the class had stopped reading and taking notes to look at her, Umbridge finally deigned her by addressing her.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"_Using_ defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron ejaculated loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. — ?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Hermione immediately raised her hand again. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry–trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but —"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk–free way —"

"That's bullshit" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"

"Language!" Umbridge exclaimed. "Who might you be?"

"Jack Evans."

"Ah, yes," she exclaimed with a sickly sweet smile. "I've met your father, James. What is it you would like to express discontent over, Mr Evans?"

"The only way to understand something is to practice it," Harry said. "There is an estimate that it takes roughly ten thousand hours of practice to master a skill, and you can't master something by reading about it. Any teacher or instructor knows that."

"Well, I'm not sure you would know much about the real world, Mr Evans, but the way things work–"

"Is that the children of Aurors get kidnapped at an alarming rate," Harry finished. "At least in America, but then again, we do have the worst criminals."

The classroom was quiet.

"I'm sorry, Mr Evans? I didn't quite understa–"

"Neither did I the first time I was taken," Harry cut her off. "I was kept in a dirty, rat–infested basement for six weeks before my father managed to locate me. He was given authority to use lethal force, and not a single one of the thugs were alive when the rest of the Auror team entered."

Not even Umbridge cut him off.

"In real life, theory is useless unless you have practice, and even then, it's useless if you can't use your head under pressure. A purely theory–oriented approach is basically castrating us, and then expecting us to be capable of conceiving children. Even in No–Maj society, p–"

"No–Maj?" Umbridge asked.

"Non–Magical," Harry explained. "Non–wizards."

"We call them 'Muggles', Mr Evans."

"Right. Even in Muggle society, people get mugged and murdered in the street for petty reasons at hideously high rates. When the opponent is a wizard with years of experience on you, theory will leave you dead in the gutter, and don't try to pretend it doesn't happen, because it does. My captors were getting ready to film my execution tape and send it to my father when he burst through the door."

People in the classroom started looking like they were going to be sick, all except for Ron and Hermione. They knew his real backstory, after all.

"If you're going to waste our time with this bullshit, I'm leaving. All you're doing is getting us all killed."

With that, Harry stood up and went to the door.

"Detention after class, Mr Evans. Get back in your seat."

Harry turned and faced her with a smile as he leant against the door.

"No thank you."

Umbridge looked perplexed.

"What did you say?"

"My father told me about you."

"All good things I hope," she said with a light voice.

"More like 'she's a right old toad–lookin' cunt, that bitch is'."

Umbridge's face visibly reddened, a stark contrast to her pink attire. Harry then spoke out over the class.

"Anyone wanna go do something useful in Defence? We could go visit that French woman, Flir or whatever."

"Fleur," Hermione corrected as she took her things and stood up.

"She's sharp as a whip, mate, don't call her 'Flir' to her face," Ron grinned as he followed suit, as did Neville and a few other Gryffindors.

"How DARE you all!?" Umbridge shouted. "Get back in your seats!"

"If you're going to start being competent, sure. _Tut tut_" Harry winked with a smirk and a wave as he left the room, the other few Gryffindors following closely behind him.

"Fuuuck, she's a cunt!" Harry exclaimed as the group descended the staircase. "My father was right. He's always right, and it pisses me the fuck off!"

Ron laughed as Hermione flustered at his language.

"You really don't seem like a regular Slytherin," Dean Thomas commented.

"'Spose not, I only just arrived," Harry said. "What's your name?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Good to meet ya Dean," Harry said as they made their way to the classroom and office Fleur had been granted.

"I didn't think you'd know where her classroom was," Seamus commented with a small smirk.

"Saw her leave there this morning," Harry shrugged.

"Riiiight."

The small group soon entered the classroom to see Fleur placing dummies in a line with her wand. She was dressed in black tights with a grey undershirt and a black cardigan wrapped around her torso, and with black ankle boots on her feet.

"Gooday, Teach," Harry said as he seated himself on one of the desks. "Could you help us with somethin'?"

She looked over and seemed surprised to see a small flock of Gryffindors with a single Slytherin.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" she asked with confusion.

"Defence teacher's a cunt and utterly inept," he said and laid down. "I don't know your credentials or anythin', but I bet you'd be a far better teacher."

"Well, you can't just skip class," she said and made her way over to them, more specifically Hermione. "What happened?"

"Like Jack said, Professor Umbridge is having us read."

Fleur looked at Harry, then at Hermione.

"I thought you like reading."

There erupted a small group of laughter, but Harry just sat up on his elbows.

"Somethin' I don't know?"

"She's a right bookworm," Ron said, "but she's bloody brilliant, I tell you."

Hermione blushed a little.

"She's having us _only_ read," she elaborated. "The whole school year, without any practice whatsoever."

"Well, that's no way to learn magic," Fleur nodded. "I'll talk with her, see what's going on."

"Get ready for bureaucratic bullshit, she seems fond of that," Harry commented.

"You certainly have a foul language Mr…?"

"Jack Evans, at your service," Harry said and hopped off the table before he took off his cloak and pulled out his wand. "Anyone keen on learnin' a few Auror spells?"

Ron and Neville both took off their cloaks and pulled out their wands as well, and most of the others just pulled out their wands.

"Fleur?" he said. "That was your name, right?"

"Ms Delacour," the part–Veela corrected him.

"Right," he said. "Could you help us out?"

She looked torn at what to do, but quickly decided.

"Alright. I'll help you out today, then I'll talk to Professor Umbridge."

The rest of the lesson time was spent going through wand movements and incantations for the Stunning spell. Only Hermione had learnt to do it by the time the bell rang.

"Great work, everyone," Fleur exclaimed with a smile. "You're all well on your way to getting it to work. Mr Longbottom, a little tighter wand movement would aid you drastically. Ms Patil, you're a little too stiff in your posture, you need to flow and let the magic rush. Other than that, good job."

The other Gryffindors smiled and chatted as they waved at Fleur and left the classroom, leaving only Fleur and the trio.

"Honestly, I never imagined you'd be a great teacher," Harry said, switching back to his English accent.

"Is it surprising?" she asked with a bright smile.

"Well, no," Harry said. "I'd just never really thought of it. Teaching suits you."

"Thank you, Harry," she said and walked up to him, placed a kiss on his cheek, and then turned back to look at the classroom. "It's a little daunting, to be honest. And I'd hate to have an accident, what with…"

Ron and Hermione looked on with worry.

"With what?" Hermione asked sharply.

Harry and Fleur exchanged looks, and Harry nodded. Fleur then turned to the other two with a bright smile.

"I'm pregnant!" she exclaimed.

They both stood with shocked and surprised faces and stared at her. Fleur's smile lessened a little, and she looked at Harry who held up a finger as if to say 'give it a minute'. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Hermione's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed and hugged Fleur tightly, who happily reciprocated the embrace.

Ron turned to look at Harry with a deadpan smirk.

"Well, forgot to pull out, eh Harry?"

Harry, Fleur and Ron broke into laughter, whereas Hermione reddened considerably.

"_Ronald_!" she exclaimed and slapped him on the shoulder.

"What!? It was a joke!" He then looked at the pair. "In all seriousness, though, congratulations."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said with a smile and looked at Fleur with a look Ron had only seen on his father when he looked at his mother.

They heard a knock on the door and a _hem hem_. Harry already knew, without looking, who it was, and it rhymed with 'Umbitch'.

"Ms Delacour, may I have a word with you?" Umbridge asked with her archetypical acidic sweetness.

"Of course," she said and waved for the children to leave.

"_With_ Mr Evans?"

Ron and Hermione waved at Harry as they left, and Harry sat back down on one of the nearby desks.

"I am very dissatisfied with your behaviour today, Mr Evans."

"As I am with yours, Umbridge."

The toad–like woman reddened slightly.

"That's _Professor_ Umbridge."

"I'd call you that if you were really an educator, but you're not," Harry said with a smile. "Fudge set you up to mess up Hogwarts, didn't he?"

"_Minister_ Fudge, Mr Evans," Harry was really trying her patience, he could practically see it churning in her head.

"What is said behind closed doors," he waved his wand and the door she had entered through, "stays behind closed doors, I believe the saying goes."

"I will not have you talk back to me, Mr Evans," she practically shouted, yet only spoke in a strained low voice, and then turned to Fleur. "I believe some students came here to have a lesson with you, Ms Delacour, is that correct?"

"Yes," Fleur replied with a courteous smile.

"And what did you teach them?"

"The Stunning spell," she answered. "It is a highly useful spell to k–"

"And yet, you're not a Ministry–certified educator in the subject, are you?"

"No, I am not," Fleur said.

"Then you should use your better judgement and refrain from filling their heads with useless lessons," Umbridge said toxically, "so that they may focus on important studies."

"I agree," Harry said, drawing confused looks from both women. "History of Magic is _suuuuper_ important."

Fleur couldn't suppress her snigger at the comment, drawing Umbridge's ire.

"Do you find that funny, Ms Delacour?"

"A little, yes," Fleur nodded. "That is the nature of jokes and wisecracks; to make people laugh."

Then it was Harry's turn to snigger, drawing even more ire from Umbridge.

"And you find _that_ funny, Mr Evans!?"

"The fact that you need to be explained the definition of laughter, yes," Harry muttered, sending both Fleur and himself into giggling.

"I will not stand for this!" Umbridge exclaimed.

"Then sit for it instead," Harry broke out into laughter, as Fleur's giggling intensified.

Umbridge, sensing she wouldn't get through to them, turned and dramatically left the room, making both Fleur and Harry laugh. This, in turn, drew Professor Dumbledore to the room.

"I just happened to be passing by when an angry frog jumped past me," he said. "Who here has read too many fairy tales?"

The pair's laughter intensified as Dumbledore chuckled at their antics.

"Ah, to be young and in love," he said. "A greater magic than any ever taught here. So, what has transpired to rile up Professor Umbridge so badly?"

The pair took a while to calm down from their laughing fit.

"I've quite thoroughly disgraced her as an educator," Harry said, still occasionally letting out a chuckle. "She wants us to read a book."

Dumbledore looked confused.

"And?"

"And that's it," Harry said. "She wants us to read theory, that isn't even accurate, mind you, and not practice _at all_."

"Well, that is concerning," Dumbledore muttered. "Do you have suspicions about her?"

"She's here on Fudge's orders," Harry nodded, his face falling into a more serious expression as the time for laughter had passed. "She didn't even deny try to it when I accused her of it. My bet? Fudge wants Hogwarts' students debilitated because he worries you'll form a militia to overthrow him and take his place as Minister."

Fleur and Dumbledore both looked at him with surprise.

"It's a simple tactic, really," Harry shrugged. "Saw through it the moment Hermione asked about applying any of the theory practically. They damn well know you can't learn magic only through theory, so they're trying to sell the lie that you actually can, that it's _safer_, _risk–free_. I saw it in her eyes the moment I called her out on it."

"But I have no desire to become Minister," Dumbledore shook his head.

"But admit it; you totally _could_ supplant him as Minister, and do a far better job at it than him. He's a bumbling idiot who takes advice from _Lucius Malfoy_ of all people."

"I suppose there is some truth to that," Dumbledore said with the characteristic twinkle in his eye that Harry actually quite adored, since it implied the people referred to were idiots, and that he knew it. "But still, I knew that Voldemort's return would spark unrest with the Minister, but this? He's completely misguided."

"No, he is guided," Harry said. "By Death Eaters. And that is what worries me most. He's susceptible to bribes, something no minister should ever be."

"Sadly, many are," Fleur commented. "Our former Minister was being bribed as well, to grant criminals pardon. He was unseated when it was discovered, but it still shook the French wizarding population when they learned of it."

"Of course, here in Britain it's all par for the course in politics," Harry said. "People do others favours and receive favours in return, favours can be bought with money, and if not, then earned through blackmail or coercion, it's all rather simple–minded, really."

Dumbledore and Fleur looked at him again with surprise.

"So I may have watched my guardian wrap diplomats, bureaucrats and politicians around her fingers with seduction _and_ all of the above, but my point still stands. It's how politics are done, and how they have been done for millennia, actually. Set me up with a thousand galleons, and I will bring the Ministry to its knees in a decade. Two at most."

The trio was silent, until Fleur spoke up again.

"Why did you rile her up so much, though?"

"Anger is an emotional reaction that impacts the body on a chemical level. A person experiencing anger also experiences increased heart rate, elevated blood pressure, and increased levels of adrenaline and noradrenaline," Harry stated as–a–matter–of–factly with a shrug. "Angry people are more likely to make risky decisions, and make more optimistic risk assessments, and also have their inhibitions lowered, making them more likely to blurt out secrets or half–truths."

Fleur looked confused, but Dumbledore nodded sagely.

"So does sexual arousal, for that matter," Harry added, "but I wasn't too keen on getting my swagger on." Fleur's confusion turned into a frown. "For one, I'm engaged to, and very much in love with you," he said to Fleur whose frown lessened. "Second, she's a cunt. Third," Harry gagged, "she's fuckin' hideous! Not to mention that I'd feel like I'm cheating on Fleur, which I actually have, once," Fleur's eyes widened in shock and hurt, though Dumbledore's shock was without hurt, "in an attempt to gain the trust of the vampire ruling London at the time."

Fleur's eyes teared up a little and she placed her hands over her mouth. Harry stood up with a shamed and guilty expression.

"I had to gain her trust, Fleur," he said. "It wasn't personal, it was purely business. I _did_ shoot her with explosive anti–material round after, and I had my death faked, for the first time, for my 'betrayal'," Harry air–quoted. "I took office as her scourge, but she thought she needed to gain my loyalty with a 'reward'. I didn't enjoy it Fleur, I swear. I played a role, it's what you do when you infiltrate enemy territory. You do whatever you have to in order to sell your lie, it's literally in the training program for intelligence agents going undercover in other governments and terror organisations."

Fleur turned away and headed back to her office. Harry looked at Dumbledore and gave an apologetic look as he rushed after his fiancé. Dumbledore sighed and left the classroom, and made sure to close the door after him. Harry ran up and burst into Fleur's office where her bed also was.

"Fleur, please believe me," Harry pleaded with the woman who was starting to cry. "Fleur, I had no choice. If I had rejected her, she would have known something was up. My job was to secure evidence and spread rumours that she was a criminal and a menace to the vampiric society. I did my job, and then I killed her, Fleur, I did not enjoy it."

"You slept with her!" Fleur screamed. "And a vampire!? So she was basically a corpse, then!? I have laid with you more times than I can count, and you dared sleep with a corpse! How am I to know when it happened!?"

"New Year's Eve," Harry said calmly. "After our first time, their bodies are kept in a stasis so that they don't decay, and I showered plenty before we laid the second. Look, Fleur, it was important. It secured me an alliance with a very powerful vampire sorcerer."

"And that is more important than my feelings!?"

"He has agreed to make sure you are off–limits to the vampires of London," Harry said. "You are safe, and they are all compelled by his law to come to your rescue if you should ever be cornered! I did it specifically to protect you!"

Fleur sat down on her bed and started crying into her hands. Harry walked over, but she lashed her hand out at him.

"Get out!"

"Fleur, I di–"

"GET OUT!" she screamed and pulled her wand.

Without thinking, she sent a Blasting curse right into Harry's left shoulder, and it, along with his arm, was blown clean off as his blood, muscle, bone and sinew was splattered into a fine, red paste now decorating a part of her office and bedroom. Harry roared in pain as his eyes started glowing and his fangs extended. He fell to his knees and remaining arm, which he bit into to suppress his bestial roars of agony, drawing blood through his sleeve. Her eyes widened at what she had done, and she quickly dropped her wand. She rushed over to him, but his animal instincts were on high alert, and he scurried away with a feral anguish shining in his face and eyes as he stared fearfully at her. Fleur dropped to her own knees and started sobbing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered through her tears. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

But Harry's rational mind was too far gone at the moment, and on legs and hand he scurried out of the office, acting like a skittish wolf more than a human. It wasn't until he tumbled down the stairs into the classroom and broke his right arm at the elbow that he regained some semblance of rationality.

"Fleur," he called out, gasping in pain.

As called, she rushed out of her office and down to him, only to gasp and start shaking at seeing him sitting against the wall of the classroom, his shoulder and arm missing, and his other arm bent at an unnatural angle, his face expressing more sorrow than pain.

"I'm sorry, Fleur! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

Fleur rushed down and placed his arm back into the right position, and jumped, startled when the elbow 'popped' and reset itself normally, which elicited a groan from Harry. She then threw her arms around him.

"I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm so sorry!" she called out.

Harry used his now reset arm to hold her tight.

"You've every right to be angry, Fleur," Harry said, his breathing picking up as his shoulder very slowly reformed. "I get it, I understand it. I just want to make sure you know that I will never do anything to hurt you unless I have no other choice."

Fleur nodded as her face was pressed into the crook of his neck that wasn't covered in his own blood and pulverised bone.

"And I'm not just saying that because you could have killed me if you aimed a little more to the left and up," he chuckled with a pained groan. "God, I feel sorry for any idiot who messes with you."

Fleur pulled his face down towards her own and took his lips with hers.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled against them.

"It's okay," he responded. "I'll heal."

They sat there for a while, at least an hour, and Fleur was in a fashion enraptured by seeing his arm slowly grow back.

"That was my werewolf healing," Harry muttered. "Now watch."

She did as asked, and suddenly, from his elbow down, his arm grew back in less than ten seconds.

"Incredible," she muttered. "And then that is your vampire healing?"

"Yeah. Werewolves heal a little constantly, and vampires can heal as much as they want to, whenever they want to. The thing is, that, as well as many other vampire abilities, requires blood to function. That is mostly why vampires drink blood. They need just a pint or so to survive the night, though they _will_ be hungry if they only drink a pint a night, I can tell you that."

"Do you need to drink a pint every day?" Fleur asked quietly.

"I don't need to drink blood at all," Harry said. "I **can**, if I've used all the supernatural charge there is in my blood. Vampires lose the actual liquid blood in their bodies when they heal their wounds or empowers their bodies. But creatures such as I have a certain energy in our blood. The liquid itself stays, but that energy, that _charge_, is expended when we use our powers."

"I see."

"I was hoping you would undergo a ritual for me," Harry said calmly. "One that lets you gain some of my abilities."

"Harry, I don't need power," she said.

"No, but as it is, I will live on for the next five, six, maybe seven centuries, and you will hopefully pass away in your sleep in one without it," Harry muttered. "I'd be miserable for the remaining four to six. Of course, I could watch over our great–great–great–great–great–grandchildren, but it would still be without you."

"Can't you have the spell undone after you kill Voldemort?"

"No. It's a lifetime commitment, much like marriage," Harry smirked. "Once your body is changed this way, it can't go back. When it's done, it's done."

Fleur was quiet, and Harry decided not to press it.

"You should probably clean up your office," he said. "Unless, of course, you want people to believe you get extremely violent nosebleeds."

Fleur chuckled at the jab.

"You take the most serious things so casually."

"Well, it's not really serious until I can't heal it. And look," he held up his hand, "good as new."

"Cock."

"Maybe later."

"Jerk," she muttered and lightly tapped him on the stomach.

Counter–Intelligence

Harry quickly fell into the routine of joining Neville, Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table instead of sitting with his housemates, and the Gryffindors were quickly warming up to him. The Slytherins started ostracising him, but he didn't really care about that. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs also started greeting him in the hallways, seeing as 'Jack Evans' was breaking the Slytherin mould. Umbridge was as unbearable a bitch as ever, and Harry always skipped her classes in favour of seeing Fleur. The same group who skived with him last time did as well, and Umbridge came down to see them and Fleur every time they did so. She gave Fleur an unnecessary scolding every time, but Fleur merely held fast in her statement that the fact that Umbridge's students wouldn't listen to her was _her_ problem to deal with. Soon, the members of the little 'study group' stopped showing up, and they looked a little fearfully at Harry when they passed him, and stopped making contact.

That was what led Harry to confront the group one evening outside the Great Hall. Harry was waiting for them outside as they finished supper.

"What happened?" he asked seriously as they left, and they were startled when he spoke from the shadows next to the door.

"N–nothing, Jack. We just d–don't want to skip anymore," Dean tried saying, but before he knew what was happening, Harry was taking his hand, holding it up and looking at it. What he saw made his blood boil.

'_I mustn't skip class'_ was scratched into the back of his hand, and it was furiously red and seemed to be getting an infection due to it not being treated.

"That fucking…" Harry trailed off. "Follow me," he said and started towards the stairs. When he was at the top of the first section, he looked back and saw that they hadn't moved. "Well, come on!"

They quickly followed him after that. They followed him to the Hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey was idly making sure the hospital beds were prepared for use.

"Nurse, I need Murtlap Essence, swabbing, a scalpel, towels and bandages," Harry called out.

Pomfrey looked up somewhat surprised.

"As soon as possible would be lovely," he added with a small smile.

Pomfrey looked at him for a little, before heading off and getting the things. Harry then turned to the group and pointed to some chairs around a bed.

"Grab a chair and take a seat. You're not leaving until I treat those wounds."

They all looked hesitant and scared to one extent or another, but otherwise did as they were asked. Pomfrey soon came back with the requested things as Harry washed his hands.

"Thank you Madam…"

"Pomfrey, dear."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said and took the things over to the students.

Harry quickly scraped the infection out of Dean's wounds with the scalpel, dipped the swabbing in the Murtlap Essence which he then gingerly applied to the wounds and had Dean hold there until he said other wise.

"When I get my hands around that woman's neck, I'm gonna…" but Harry cut off as he treated Seamus' hand.

The Gryffindors all seemed somewhat astonished at the fact that 'Jack' actually cared. Harry quickly treated the students and wrapped their hands carefully in the bandages. He then disposed of the swabbing and the tainted Murtlap Essence, before he rinsed off the scalpel, and then turned around.

"If she ever tells you to write again, say no and leave," he said seriously. "Under no circumstances do you stay. If she tries to force you, start screaming for help. It might go unheard, but she should get spooked, giving you an opportunity to escape. I'm going to have a chat with her, a very serious one."

They all nodded with wide eyes before leaving. Harry remained in the Hospital wing, mulling over exactly how he should approach the issue. Having Dumbledore and McGonagall there was imperative, they were Headmaster and the Gryffindor Head of House respectively. Of course, getting the Minister there would be an issue, though Harry didn't doubt he could get James to bring him there, even if it might take a day or two.

"Are you alright, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked with concern.

"No, Madam Pomfrey," Harry replied and rubbed his eyes. "I most certainly am not."

"What's bothering you?"

"Umbridge is causing bodily harm to students. She's making them write with blood quills for detention."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened.

"The Headmaster must know of this!" she said.

"I know," Harry said. "Thing is, she might deny it, or hide the quills. I need to get the Minister to allow a search of her quarters without her knowledge."

"You shouldn't take such matters into your own hands, dear. You're but a student."

"If I just hand it over, nothing will get done. At least, not fast enough for it to actually matter. I have to go," Harry said. "Don't tell anyone what I told you. If my idea goes well, she won't be teaching here after the next few days."

With that, Harry stormed off.

•••

James was sitting in his assigned office, filling out reports on the operation the Aurors had pulled a few hours earlier. He was lost in them, until he felt an instant of heat to his right and heard a flame. He looked and saw a small flame turn into a piece of parchment mid–air. He snatched it out of the air and looked at it.

_I need you to get Fudge to Hogwarts tomorrow at noon. I'll explain then._

_H_

James sighed.

_Damn it._

•••

"And why has your son requested my presence here today, Mr Evans?" Fudge grumbled as he and James walked up to the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts.

"He said he would explain," James said.

"And you pulled _me_ out here just because?"

"I trust my son unconditionally," James said. "If he tells me to do something, I will, just as he will do whatever I tell him to."

Fudge huffed. It was purely a formality that he was here. When an Auror as experienced and respected as James asked you of something, you should seriously consider doing it. Over thirty years of experience in the Dark Arts and combating them was something to be feared and respected in equal measures. As they entered the castle, Harry stood off to the side. When he saw them, he quickly walked over.

"Thank you so much for coming today, Minister," he said and shook the man's hand.

"Certainly, young man," Fudge smiled. "Your father is a powerful man. It would be foolish not to agree with a small request such as this."

"Truth be told, it's not very small," Harry said gravely. "I will explain when we reach Umbridge's office."

"_Professor_ Umbridge," Fudge corrected.

"If you are a man of any kind of respectable character, she won't be after this," Harry said and turned back to head up the stairs.

Fudge's eyes were wide, and he looked at James. James seemed concerned, but followed his 'son' without question. When the three reached the DADA classroom, they were greeted by seven Gryffindors, all with their left hands wrapped in bandages, as well as Dumbledore and McGonagall. Fudge was slightly angered, but reigned it in.

"Dumbledore," he greeted begrudgingly. "McGonagall."

"Minister," Dumbledore returned as he and his Deputy Headmistress bowed their heads slightly.

"And what are these students doing here?" Fudge asked and gestured to the Gryffindors.

Harry opened the door to the classroom without responding and walked in. Umbridge was sitting at the desk at the end of the classroom, and tensed with a furious expression, until she saw Fudge.

"Minister," she said and stood, but her face paled when the rest of the entourage entered.

"Minister, I would like to present you with a criminal case of child abuse," Harry said.

Fudge's eyes widened more, and Harry waved the Gryffindors over.

"Take them off," Harry muttered.

Dean, Seamus, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Parvati and Lavender all took off their bandages, peeled off the cotton pressing on their injuries, and revealed their wounds shaped in words.

"Minister, I would like for you to authorise a search, conducted by my father," Harry gestured to James, "for the illegal blood quills Umbridge used during detention to punish these seven students for skipping class when it became abundantly clear that her teaching methods were a complete waste of time."

Umbridge huffed.

"This is obviously a set–up," she exclaimed. "This is ridiculous."

"What is ridiculous, Dolores," McGonagall said, "is that you thought you would go unpunished for such heinous deeds. They're children!"

"It's also quite ridiculous that you claim that my son is incapable of seeing through you," James said. "There is no doubt in my mind that I will find blood quills in your possession."

"You will do no search," Umbridge said.

"He will, Dolores," Fudge said, and then turned to James. "You may search all of her belongings, classroom, office and private quarters."

Umbridge turned bright red, and was about to step in front of James, but she immediately regretted it, as James' wand was aimed directly at her face.

"You will stand down, Dolores Umbridge, or I will take it as an attack against myself."

Umbridge fumed and stepped aside very reluctantly. James went to the desk she had sat beside and pulled out all drawers. Harry noticed Umbridge's hand slowly move towards where he knew she kept her wand, but quickly pulled his own.

"If I see your hand move one inch closer to your wand, I will stun you for trying to attack a Ministry official," Harry said dangerously.

Fudge said nothing to it, even when Umbridge looked at him with pleading eyes. James noticed the commotion, and went to her office. After almost five minutes in there, he came out with a long, midnight–black quill held between two fingers. Umbridge was seething.

"It was obviously planted the–"

"You're embarrassing yourself, Dolores," Fudge said, now seething with anger himself.

James came back down and held the quill out for the Gryffindor students to see.

"Did Dolores Umbridge force you to write with this quill?"

They all nodded.

"They're lying!"

"Dolores Umbridge, you are under arrest for the wanton and willing abuse of minors, as well as possession of an illegal item," James said, and with a flick of his wand, magical ropes pulled her pudgy arms behind her back and tied them together at the wrist. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of the Wizengamot. You are stripped of your rights and privileges as a Ministry official, and you will be confined to jail before your final sentence is decided at trial."

Harry put his wand away and looked at Umbridge with nothing but disgust.

"Every teacher needs to learn how to teach somehow," he said with an angry voice, "but someone who mutilates disobedient students can never be called a teacher. Only a beast."

James took a seething and furious Umbridge by the arm and led her from the room. Fudge remained and looked at the children gathered.

"I truly am sorry for what Dolores did to you," he said. "I will make sure you receive treatment at St Mungo's, naturally free of charge, and you will each be compensated with two hundred galleons. If you wish to press charges, I will personally see to it that the processes are begun."

The students all nodded mutely. Fudge then turned to Harry.

"You have done a very good deed, Mr Evans. But, it would seem that Hogwarts is now lacking a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Not necessarily," Harry replied. "There's always Fleur Delacour."

"The Beauxbatons champion from last year?"

"Yes," Dumbledore stepped in. "As a show of international cooperation, I invited her to tutor students who needed help with their various classes. She was also going to start a duelling club later this year, though I doubt that will be necessary when she takes over in Defence."

Fudge seemed to be angry, though he hid it somewhat well. He then nodded and left the room. Harry smiled a little and sat on one of the desks.

"Now I can finally attend Defence again," he muttered. He then looked at the Gryffindors. "Honestly, I'm sorry for what happened to you. I should've done something sooner."

"Nobody asked for your help," Seamus said with irritation in his voice.

"But you were obviously too scared to do it on your own," Harry countered. "If nothing had been done, Umbridge would still be here, and you would be going for another detention." Seamus shivered involuntarily at the word 'detention'. "Exactly."

With that, Harry left the room as well. It was a quick walk to Fleur's office. She had cleaned up the organic matter sprayed all over her wall, and was sitting at her desk, reading a book. Harry knocked on the doorframe and drew her attention to him.

"Congratulations on the promotion," Harry said. "You've just become the teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Fleur was astonished to say the least.

"What?"

"Umbridge was just arrested," Harry said and moved over beside her. "She used an illegal quill to punish students with detention, so you've been nominated to take her place."

Harry kissed the top of her head, and Fleur took his hand.

"Harry, listen; I'm so s–"

"Forget it, Fleur," Harry said and pulled her up before pulling her on top of him onto her bed. "You were upset, and I healed. That's the end of it."

Fleur was still sad, though, so Harry pulled her face down to his, and soon, she had forgotten all about it as she and Harry consummated their love for one another again.

•••

Harry and Fleur lay in bed, doing nothing but cuddling. Fleur had been down ever since the incident, so Harry just held her tight and kept whispering to her how much he loved her. He did bring a smile to her lips, which brightened his day immensely. Until it was reaching dinner, and the pair decided that they should go to the Great Hall and get something to eat. Harry left first so that people wouldn't get the idea that they were a couple. Of course, they were, but that was how going undercover worked.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table with the group of Gryffindors he had grown accustomed to. Now that he had gotten Umbridge fired and arrested, they were back to talking to him again. He received dirty looks from other Slytherins, but he largely ignored them. At least, until he reached the Slytherin common room. When he entered, a lot of Slytherins followed him, and as he made his way towards his room, his way was blocked by Montague.

"Where'd you think you're goin', Evans?"

"To my room," Harry replied and tried walking past the boy, but the boy made sure he didn't go anywhere.

"I don't think so," Malfoy dawdled behind Harry, and Harry mentally focused on repressing his werewolf powers. He knew what was coming.

Just as he had suppressed his healing and toughness, Crabbe came up beside him and with a thick, meaty fist drove the wind out of Harry, who doubled over. He felt the boy grab the back of his head by his hair, and a moment later, a soft and fleshy knee smashed into his face. Even without the toughness granted by his werewolf nature, it was quite weak, and Harry started wondering why anyone was afraid of the moronic cronies Malfoy dragged around. Harry was then hefted back up, and Goyle's fist came crashing into his face, giving him a nosebleed and bruised his left eye. What Harry _hadn't_ expected was that Malfoy had grabbed a fire poker and slammed it into the side of Harry's head. Soon, Slytherin boys of years five and above were ganged up on him and punching, kicking and stomping on him. Harry decided to just take it all. He couldn't risk revealing his identity. He merely focused on suppressing his healing, sturdiness and keeping his disguise intact. After almost half an hour, everyone stopped and went to their own things, having grown bored. Harry was left on the carpet, beaten, heavily bruised, even with a few cracked ribs, dislocated jaw and shoulder, as well as a heavy nosebleed. He laid there quietly and occasionally spit out a mouthful of blood. His breath was ragged, and he planted his left hand on the floor and was about to push himself off the ground, when some _asshole_ wanted an extra shot, and sent their foot crashing onto his elbow. Harry's arm broke, and while it was barely enough to elicit a groan, Harry started screaming. Slytherins looked frightened at the sudden outburst as Harry clutched his broken arm. He just screamed into the carpet, trying to make it sound as authentic as possible. He pretended to be on the verge of crying, but slowly pushed himself off the floor with his other arm and limped out of the common room.

He entered Dumbledore's office a little while later, who to Harry's surprise and displeasure, was still hosting Fudge. James was there as well, along with McGonagall and Fleur. Dumbledore was the first to react as he stood up and quickly made his way around the table. When the others noticed, they all paled and froze, with the exception of James. Harry's eyes were dark blue and swollen, and he had purple and red bruises all over his face. His lips were torn, his nose crooked and he had a bleeding hole on the side of his head. He was standing primarily on his left leg, and he was clutching a broken left arm.

"Jack!?" Dumbledore asked. "What happened!?"

"Nde Snynderins apparentny don't nike it when you," Harry said, his jaw hanging almost slack, paused, and spat out a mouthful of blood, "ningle nith Gyffinder."

Fudge's eyes were wide.

"Your housemates did that to you!?"

Harry nodded, his face cold and expressionless, though none could see it for the bruising. James sighed and looked at Dumbledore.

"Can I get him transferred to Gryffindor, then?"

"I will make sure it happens," McGonagall confirmed tightly. "How disgraceful. I will have a talk with them and Severus."

Dumbledore led Harry over to a quickly–conjured chair, where Harry slowly sat down with a groan and gasps.

"This is unacceptable, Dumbledore," James said calmly. "I will sue the Slytherins involved."

"I fully understand," Dumbledore nodded. "The perpetrators will be expelled."

"Nell, seems ony girns nill graduate from the Snynderin house ne next tno years, nen," Harry muttered. "Every guy in ne years five nough seven nere in on it."

"Are you sure of this?" Dumbledore asked.

"Hunded percent. I 'ounted. Nut I don't want nem egnelled. Njud sue 'en."

James then stood up.

"I'll come back in the weekend," he muttered as he came over and patted Harry on the shoulder.

"Nure."

James then led Fudge out of the office, discussing in low tones how to sue the boys' families. When they were out, Fleur walked over to Harry and pulled his head gingerly into her chest.

"Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

"I nil–" Harry stopped, and his jaw 'clicked' into place quite loudly before he wagged it to regain feeling in it. "I will be."

"How could they do it? Shouldn't you have healed almost instantly?"

"I can suppress it to a degree, for some time. I'll guide Severus in making a potion that will negate my natural healing abilities for a few weeks so that I don't break my cover."

"Harry, I'm sure it would be believable that–" McGonagall was about to say.

"Yes, but I want everyone to know what they did," Harry said. "I want people to know what happened, and when the kids' families get sued, I will make sure they lose every penny to their names."

"That would be impossible," Fleur said. "Who knows how much go–"

"The Malfoy family fortune lies in the 98.000–100.000 galleon range," Harry said. "Montague is around 12.000, Crabbe and Goyle are about equal in 8.000, the Zabinis have around 38.000, and so on. I made sure to memorise the more prominent Death Eater families' banking details whilst I broke into Gringotts."

Dumbledore, McGonagall and Fleur both stared at him with disbelieving stares.

"You… broke into… Gringotts?" Dumbledore asked slowly.

"Yes."

"_The_ Gringotts?" Fleur asked.

"Yes."

"And you've memorised several families' banking details?"

"I throw dragons, survive fatal injuries, fall from the Astronomy tower and survive, I basically came back from the dead, _nearly_, and you find it unbelievable that I broke into a bank without anyone noticing me?"

Fleur, McGonagall and Dumbledore looked at one another, but both eventually shrugged.

"I'll make sure to charge more from the Malfoys than the others, seeing as Draco is most certainly the one who instigated it. Getting them expelled would be counter–intuitive to my plans. I want them here so that I can observe them, and make sure none of them join Voldemort too soon."

"What difference would it make?" Fleur asked.

"They're just children," Harry said. "I'd like to avoid killing them for as long as I can, and I'd prefer not to kill them at all."

"Right."

Harry then turned around and limped out of the room, making the three people look concerned after him. He said he would be fine, and with the evidence they had to go on, they would be fools not to trust that. But still… watching him limp pitifully like that, clutching a broken arm and nursing bruises and cuts… it saddened Fleur immensely, though she would never be able to forgive herself for blasting off his arm, even if that had healed incredibly quickly on its own.

•••

Harry sat in the Great Hall, now wearing Gryffindor colours and sitting at the Gryffindor table, his left arm in a sling, covered in bruising, with a black cane leaning by his side, and a little bandage around his head to put pressure on the place where the fire poker's edge had cut him pretty nastily. Ron and Hermione were prattling about him, as were a few other Gryffindors, thinking he needed assistance for everything. Fortunately, Severus had brewed the potion to suppress his healing perfectly, so Harry could once in a while focus and expend a lot of energy to heal normally for a while, and he could still heal through the vampiric means, but the bruising would be around for a long time.

"Look, I'm fine," he told them all at the table. "It'll just take a few weeks before I can function normally again. Really, it's fine."

The teachers also tried prattling him, with the exception of McGonagall and Snape, who both knew the exact circumstances of his injuries. Fleur took up the post of Defence teacher quickly, and she very quickly became one of the student body's favourites. Whenever they had DADA, Harry fell into a state of euphoric joy; Fleur really enjoyed teaching, and she looked so happy doing it, Harry imagined that she might even become the first to teach DADA at Hogwarts for more than a year in a very long time. The days went by quickly as well, and Fleur soon started showing, which brought a lot of whispers and rumours around. Most notably, as Harry had predicted, that he was the father. Slytherins made snide comments and trashed Harry when they knew Fleur could hear it, and she didn't have to fake the fury she had to suppress.

Harry looked at the letter he held in his hands. It was the letter calling him to come to the Ministry of Magic the following weekend to start the trials against the Slytherins. He put it in his pocket and left the Great Hall to waddle up the long stairs, which had surprisingly become a difficult task with his limp and cane. He stuffed the letter in his trunk when he reached his "new" dorm and headed back down the dozen stairs and went for Fleur's personal quarters. When he reached her office, he opened the door to see her sitting in a rocking chair she had gotten as a present from Dumbledore. She was looking out the window, gently rocking to and fro, and gently rubbed her growing belly. A small smile rested on her face. Harry didn't disturb her. He merely leant against the doorframe with a smile of his own. She didn't notice him for ten minutes, not before she reached out for a stack of assignments she had to grade. She looked up and saw him, making her smile even more widely.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey yourself," he returned in a whisper as well. "How are you, and our little one?"

"We're both just fine," she replied and looked down. "I had never expected I would become a mother so soon."

"Well, I hadn't expected to _ever_ become a father, so…" Harry shrugged lightly. "To be honest, the few years before I left for Hogwarts, and even during my first year here, I was certain I was going to die as soon as I had killed Voldemort. Or at least, not long after. I just didn't rate my chances of survival very highly. But now…" he paused and just smiled at her. "Now I have things to live for."

He locked the office door after himself and walked over, sitting next to her on her desk chair and kissing her lightly before he placed his functional hand on her belly. He went quiet for a while, until he smiled brightly and removed his hand.

"There's a heartbeat," he said proudly.

Fleur let out some happy, giddy, and excited giggles.

"Soon, she will show us just how strong she is," Fleur said as she took Harry's hand and placed her other on the bump on her lower torso.

"It could be a boy, you know?" Harry said with a small smile.

"She will have Veela blood, so it is more likely that it is a girl," Fleur said. "Full–, half– and quarter–blooded Veela, such as myself, are guaranteed to be women. An eighth parts Veela is very likely to be a girl, as well."

"That does make sense," Harry nodded lightly. "She will have some vampire and werewolf blood as well, but it won't be a lot. At most, I think she might have a temper and an affinity for nature and animals, maybe even be a little stronger and faster than most, but I don't think it should be too noticeable. She just _might_ awaken to become as much of either as I am, but I doubt it."

They were silent for a little while.

"So what happens after He's gone?" Fleur asked hesitantly. "What will we do?"

"Buy a house?" Harry suggested. "I don't know. I never thought of it. I don't want to raise her in the chantry, that much is certain."

"Here? Or in France?"

"Italy?" Harry rerouted the question with a smile. "Egypt? Brazil? I can get us a house wherever we want. She will most definitely be a witch, so I think we should stay close to any magical community. We'll see when the time comes. For now, we have a war to win. And I would prefer it if you stayed out of it." Fleur opened her mouth with a frown, about to protest, but Harry cut her off. "If I were to really die, our daughter would only have you left. And whatever happens, I want our child to have at least one parent, and I would prefer if it was you."

"But then what of you!?"

"I have done many awful things," Harry smiled sadly. "I'm a killer. A torturer. A monster. But I am still just a man. My story is one of many millions. And the world will not suffer if it ends too soon."

"And you will be fine with that?" Fleur asked. She had come beyond the point of tears, and was now just resigned to what he would say. Harry was a strong and courageous boy, but he was also realistic. He understood that me might not survive the war, and he was resigned to the possibility. Fleur was well aware that he would do everything in his power to survive and come back to her, but Fate was the final arbiter as to whether or not that would happen.

"I will," Harry said. "I'm working to create a brighter future. One where Voldemort doesn't exist. One where our child can grow up happy, safe, and loved. She might wonder where I am, why I'm not there, and when she gets older, why I died. But at least you will be there to reassure her that I loved her, and that I died to protect her life, as well as those of others. _If_ I die, naturally."

Fleur just nodded solemnly. She could never change his mind on that matter. But that will, and the willingness to sacrifice even his own life to serve the Greater Good was also part of why she liked him so much. He could look out for himself, take her and their child, and run far away, where Voldemort would never find them. But it would go against his wishes to see humankind free from oppression by tyrants. It was a wish he had confided her with just weeks prior. He had once met a man who told him of an organisation that had such aims. Aims that he sympathised with.

Harry stood up and walked over to her, where he leant down and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her lips which she responded gladly to. He then stood back up straight and left the office. Fleur continued mulling over their conversations. There was something off about him, lately. He had grown more distant. He seemed to get lost in thought often. Fleur took the homework assignments off her desk and started grading them. She was a little surprised to see that his wasn't in there. Then she remembered what McGonagall had told her the first time she noticed his homework was missing.

"_The boy's never handed in a single assignment_," she had said. "_His work in class speaks for itself_."

Fleur spent the better part of the afternoon grading papers, until it was about time to go to dinner. She carefully stood up, and was a little winded. Having a growing human inside you was exhausting, though she felt every moment of it was joyful. Her mood swings had become particularly nasty just earlier that week, where she had verbally assaulted a third year Slytherin for putting a little too much force into a spell, making his duelling opponent fly two metres back. She almost slapped the boy before she reigned herself. She would likely have to go on maternity leave after a month or so more. She and Harry had decided that she would go back to France to be with her family when it came to that. He would stay in Britain to do what he had to.

As Fleur neared the door to the classroom, it was opened by a sixth year Slytherin. He was a little taller than her, but he seemed nervous.

"Professor Delacour?"

"Yes, Mr Bilkes?" she asked with a smile. "How may I help you?"

"Please don't tell anyone this," he quickly said, "but I overheard some stuff in my common room."

"What 'stuff'?"

"Malfoy's trying to get some of the older Slytherins to help him beat you up," he said. "Says his father received orders from You–Know–Who to kill your child."

Fleur's eyes widened. Harry had been right.

"Are you sure of this!?"

"Positive!"

Fleur was about to storm through the door, but Bilkes slammed her in the face with his fist. She cried out and stumbled into a nearby desk. A bunch of Slytherins stormed into the classroom, and the last one closed and locked the door behind him. Fleur reached for her wand, but a book in the face knocked her back a few paces. Her nose was bleeding, and her head was spinning. Not just from hurt, but from fear, as well. And not just for her own safety, but for that of her child as well. Soon, something came that made her blood run cold in her veins. Someone had grabbed a Beater's bat from the Quidditch equipment, and slammed it into her stomach.

"NOOO!" she screamed out in horror as she fell back. "NO, ST–"

But a kick to her face sent her head spinning, making her unable to think clearly. She did feel the kicks and beatings aimed at her stomach, back, legs and arms, though, and each one sent a stab of ice through her head and her heart. She tried screaming, but someone stuffed something made of cloth in her mouth. Tears rolled down her face as she sobbed heavily whilst she was assaulted, and blood started flowing from her temple, where someone had kicked her, and a piece of gravel had been stuck in his shoes. She could do nothing to defend herself as the bat was used to break both her arms, and soon, they grabbed her legs.

"Get at it while you can, boys!" one shouted, and she fell deeper into despair as she realised what they were going to do, but she was helpless. Nothing could be done, nothing could saver her, or her child. No one–

At least, until she heard a scream, and felt a large quantity of warm fluid spill all over her. The scream was joined by others, and the screaming lasted for God knew how long.

A Parental Pain

Fleur didn't know when she fell unconscious. She also didn't know what happened, but she remembered the Slytherins suddenly screaming, and that she was doused in warm fluids. She feared they might have released their frustrations all over her, but when she opened her eyes, the liquid wasn't white… it was red. Very, _very_ red. And she knew exactly what it was. She looked down, and saw herself covered in what must have been gallons of blood. Her clothes and hair were cracking with coagulating blood, and she started breathing heavily as she looked at her stomach. It was flat. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she began shaking and sobbing. She then looked around, and saw that the Slytherin boys were all around… literally. The floor and walls, even the ceiling, were painted with their blood, body parts torn and flayed, lying all over the room, entrails spilled everywhere. She smelled the decay that was already happening, the faeces left in their guts, and the urine sticking to the various pieces of clothing lying about. She was growing sick at the gruesome scenery, and leant to the left where she threw up, heaving the small amount of food left in her stomach back up. She then tried crawling away, when she noticed that her arms were healed and fine, not to mention that the bruises and cuts on her body were all gone. She crawled a little to the right, where she saw Harry, wearing his true appearance, sitting by himself, facing away from her. Beside him was a blood–soaked bundle of cloth that had been his shirt, but something was in it, as it was wrapped around. She felt like an icicle went through her heart as she realised, placing her hand on her flat stomach, what was in the bundle. She crawled over to Harry, tears flowing and sobs resounding. He was covered in blood, himself, and his broken arm was healed.

"Ha–arry," she croaked out, making him flinch. "Har–ry, I'm –"

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered hoarsely. He wasn't shaking, she noticed, not like she was. His voice wasn't even unsteady. It was just hoarse, as if he had roared and howled again. "It will never be your fault."

"I sh–hould haaaave bin reddy," her voice shook heavily, and she couldn't speak properly as her mind was shutting down, trying to spare her the sorrow and trauma.

"You shouldn't have had to be ready. So you weren't. That's all."

When she came up to his left and looked at him, she saw that his face was an impassive mask. There was not a single hint of emotion of any kind, though the more she looked, she realised that it wasn't apathy… it was an icy rage, one that she was certain he would carry for the rest of his life. She grabbed his arm, but he made no move. He didn't pull away, he didn't take it. He just sat there, and she noticed that he had pieces of skin and flesh around his mouth and under his nails. His entire body was covered in blood, leaving not a speck of skin untouched. It was as if he had taken a swim in a pool full of it. He didn't even look at her. He just stared emptily ahead. Soon, footsteps were heard, and McGonagall opened the door and stuck her head inside, only to gasp and stare at the vision of gore, before she turned to Harry and Fleur. She quickly saw Fleur's flat stomach, and the blood–soaked shirt wrapped around something next to Harry. Her eyes watered up.

"Take Fleur to her family in France," Harry said coldly, clearly directed at McGonagall.

"Harry, I'm not leaving y–"

"I don't want you to be around for what happens next," he said icily. "You're going to France. If you really want to stay in Britain, then take off the ring on your left hand."

Fleur was shocked. She couldn't fathom what was happening.

"Harry, wh–"

"If you love me, and want to marry me, go to France," Harry said. "If you stay to see what happens, you won't be able to love me anymore."

Fleur shook more strongly, and she started crying out her sorrow, but she weakly nodded, and stood up on shaky legs with McGonagall's help. They slowly left the room, and soon, Snape came up top the room to look it over.

"It seems I have some families to write," Snape said, but his voice didn't hold any of the snark it used to. He was also far paler and greasier than he used to be. He then looked at Harry. "Are you alright, Potter?"

Harry was quiet for a while, but at last, a tear rolled down his left cheek.

"I never will be," he whispered.

He then stood up and walked past Snape, out into the hallway, and walked through the castle, bare chested and covered in blood. He didn't even put up his obfuscating disguise. Snape saw the bundle, and walked over. He peeled off the shirt, and recoiled in disgust and horror when he saw the five–month–old foetus that lay wrapped up in it. Tears actually managed to escape his eyes as he bemoaned the loss of _her_ grandchild.

•••

Fleur stood in the shower, shaking and sobbing as the water mixed with her tears and rinsed the blood off her healed body. McGonagall observed her, quietly mourning the loss of the eighteen–year–old's unborn child. When Fleur was clean, McGonagall turned off the shower and dried the nigh–catatonic woman off, before clothing her with difficulty, as Fleur had seemed to lose all sense of her body. She then walked the girl to Albus' office. The man sat silently in his chair, his face more pained and older than ever before. He stood to greet them and helped walking the shaken girl over to the fire, where he took her and Floo'd to her parent's house in France. McGonagall came right behind them, and soon, Monsieur and Madame Delacour came down, wands ready. They were shocked to see Fleur and the two teachers, but most of all, because of Fleur's silent tears, quivering body, and flat stomach.

"_Mon dieu_," her father whispered as he came over and wrapped his daughter in a hug. "My girl."

Fleur wrapped her arms around the man, and started screaming her agony out into his chest, not able to contain it any more. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, never letting go of her father. He cries and wails were heart–wrenching, and soon, Apolline was wrapping her arms around her daughter as well. The two Hogwarts professors simply stood and watched, keeping their own mourning silent.

•••

Harry slowly made his way down into the dungeons, knowing full well how to get to his destination. He gave the wall the password, and entered the Slytherin common room. Malfoy sat in the armchair in front of the fire and looked sickly and pale. He heard Harry's footsteps and looked over, only to choke on air and become even more pale. Harry's façade had fallen, and his agony was visible on his face as it was contorted in sadness, grief, and agony.

"You killed her, Draco," Harry muttered.

"I–I–I–I didn't do anything, I swear!" he screamed. "I wasn't even near there!"

"You got others to do it for you. That makes you just as guilty in my daughter's murder."

"I didn't have a ch–"

"You always had a choice," Harry said. "You could have chosen to say no."

"He was going to kill my parents, please underst–"

"They have already lived," Harry cut the boy off again, his voice strained and almost like a wolf's whimper. "But you took my daughter's chance. You didn't let her get to live."

Suddenly, a small, beautiful girl, no older than five, with silvery hair with black streaks and bright green eyes walked out from behind Harry with a smile, wearing a cute, black dress and holding a butterfly on her hand.

_Look what I caught, daddy!_ the girl's ethereal voice called out. _It's a butterfwy!_

"You took away her childhood."

The girl then grew in height and age, until she stood in black Hogwarts robes, looking very nervous and ready to be sorted.

"You took her away from any friends she might have made."

The girl then grew even further, until she was a gorgeous, grown woman, holding a little baby in her arms and smiling warmly, her unreal and echoing voice singing a quiet lullaby.

"You didn't give her a chance to start a family of her own," Harry said, tears flowing heavily, and people had gathered, their sleep disturbed by the noise, but none dared speak when they saw Harry, a person who was supposed to be dead, covered in blood and gore. "You took _everything_ from my daughter. And you took _her_ from _me_."

Tears were welling up in Draco's eyes.

"Please don't kill me," he whispered.

"I'm not going to kill you," Harry said. "I'm going to do something even worse."

Draco started crying.

"I'm going to make you live with this guilt until the day you die," Harry said. "Every time you go to sleep, my daughter will give you nightmares. Every time you see a girl, you will be reminded of what my daughter could have had. And when your wife becomes pregnant," Harry's sadness disappeared, only to be replaced with his façade of apathy, "I'm going to come and pay you a visit. Only then will you have served out your punishment."

With that, the ghostly woman disappeared, as did Harry. Draco broke down and started screaming, now cursed to live his life full of guilt and shame.

•••

Harry took a shower before he went back to his dorm and dressed in his regular clothes. He grabbed his real wand, his knife, and his pistol. With that, he then walked through the castle until he reached Dumbledore's office. He entered just as the headmaster and deputy headmistress came out of the Floo.

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "Fleur has just reached home and fallen asleep. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"You can keep carrying out my old plan if you wish," Harry calmly said. "I'm following a new one now."

"What is it?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

"Kill them all."

With that, Harry turned around and walked out of the office. Dumbledore and McGonagall looked at each other with sadness. They despaired for Harry, but they knew that if they tried to get in his way, he would kill them just as he would kill Voldemort. Harry had just lost his hope of a happy future. Now, he would wallow in darkness, and the only woman capable of pulling him back to the light was too broken to do anything about it.

•••

Harry entered the large ballroom, where almost forty vampires were socialising. He headed straight for Dee, who was sitting on a raised podium with several others. The undead started whispering, recognising him as the ghoul who had been put to death. Harry reached the table, where Dee was eying him suspiciously.

"Harrison."

"I want your help," Harry said. "I will serve you for the rest of your unlife and my life afterwards, but first, I need help. A lot of it."

"What for?"

"My unborn daughter was just murdered."

The vampires who heard, which were almost all of them, started whispering furiously.

"I want your help in destroying the organisation who is responsible. I want them all killed in the most horrific and painful ways possible. The men, the women, _and_ the children. All of them, gone, wiped out, _annihilated_!"

"What makes you think that I would be interested in helping you?" he asked calmly. "How did you even survive the Ricin injection?"

"Ricin is one of the most toxic substances on Earth, but every toxin has an antidote," Harry said. "I just so happen to keep vials of antidotes to dozens of toxins in my apartment. Now, I will be a far more efficient ghoul than any you could ever have hoped for, and I will swear to you my eternal fealty, if only you help me get my revenge."

"Revenge is such a pitiful goal, Harrison."

"Then I'm a pitiful man," Harry countered.

Dee scrutinised him thoroughly.

"I will pardon your crime against our society, Harrison, and you will be free from our persecution in London. But you're on your own."

Harry glared icily at the vampire, but turned around and walked out as quickly as he had entered. Kindred watched him closely until he left the room. His icy rage was almost palpable, even sending shivers down some of the younger and weaker–willed Kindreds' spines.

•••

Harry stormed into the chantry, breathing rapidly and heavily. When he reached the lobby, he let out a roar and grabbed the sofa before he flung it across the room. It broke into a hundred splinters and torn cushions when it struck the wall with the force of a semi loaded with concrete going a hundred kilometres an hour. He shouted and screamed out the anger, the pain and the frustration. He threw a large, heavy oak table next, shattering it just as badly. He pulled down book cases and threw things around, screaming and howling and roaring until he could make no more sound. Drained of energy, he fell to his knees, tears streaming freely down his face and his shoulders shaking heavily from his quiet sobs, as his voice was gone. He laid down on his elbows and knees, head touching his forearms, and he screamed and cried silently, his entire body shaking and quivering.

Meerlinda was watching him from the corner of the room, her stealth far greater than any of his senses. Silent tears of blood rolled down her face for the pain her charge, her _son_, was going through. He had been happier than ever when he and Fleur spent August in the chantry. Now, not even half a year later, and he was broken to the point, not just of crying, but crumbling to pieces. Harry had never exhibited such powerful emotions before as he had when he had been with Fleur. She had humanised him. Now, it seemed, she had destroyed him. James stood beside her, under her cloak of Obfuscate, as well. His own eyes were as dry as a desert, but they did show great sorrow, as did his contorted face. He absentmindedly scratched the underside of his left forearm, drawing Meerlinda's attention to it. She looked over at Harry, he took off his jacket and threw it on the ground as he sat on the one chair he hadn't demolished. He was wearing a t–shirt, which revealed a brand–like mark on the underside of his right forearm. Meerlinda swiftly jerked up James' left sleeve, and found the same mark there.

"You possess the Mark as well!?" she hissed at the man. "So that wasn't just a temporary solution!?"

James jerked away, and glared at Meerlinda.

"I couldn't let him die," he muttered.

"And now he will _never_ die, you fool! He will hate you forever!"

"I'll find a way to remove it, don't worry!" he hissed.

"Well, at least you'll be the one to tell him," she said as she dropped the obfuscation.

Harry glanced up at them, but stared down in the ground again, his face and eyes bereft of all emotion.

"What happened?" Meerlinda asked as she made her way towards Harry. "What did Fleur do?"

"She got beaten up," Harry quipped extremely hoarsely and completely apathetically. "That's what she did."

Meerlinda's eyes widened, as did James'.

"Is sh–"

"She's fine… physically."

"Then wh–"

"Our baby… isn't."

James gasped and bit his lip as he turned away. He rubbed his head.

"The baby…"

"Died," Harry finished the older man's sentence. "Fleur's gone back to France to stay with her family."

"Shouldn't she be here? If she rea–"

"I told her to."

…

"Why!?"

"I told her she wouldn't be able to love me if she were to witness what I'm going to do."

"And what's that?" James asked.

"I'm going to slaughter… every, last, one of them," Harry said coldly. "And if Fleur doesn't love me when I'm finished and I've killed Voldemort, I'm going to Hogwarts and jump off the Astronomy tower. And this time, I'll do nothing to protect myself."

Meerlinda glared at James, who cleared his throat and spoke up.

"That won't solve anything."

"Yeah, because suicide never does," Harry snorted humourlessly. "At least I won't be here to suffer."

"You won't die if you jump off the tower."

Harry looked up at the man. James sighed in defeat and pulled up his left sleeve to reveal the brand.

"You're immortal, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened.

"So, you knew. You knew, and you didn't tell me."

"Harry, I–"

"It **is** the Mark of Cain," Harry said and stood up. "I'm never going to die, am I? And, you know, I bet you're the one who cursed me with it."

"It isn't a curse, Harry, it's a gi–"

"I will NEVER get to see my parents again!" Harry suddenly shouted, and the hoarseness of his voice did little to suppress its effect. "I'LL NEVER GET TO FIND PEACE, WILL I!? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?"

"Harry, you were going to die, I couldn't let that happen!"

"SO YOU JUST TOOK AWAY MY ABILITY TO DIE, ENTIRELY!? FOR A SELFISH REASON LIKE THAT!? I WANTED TO DIE SOME DAY, AND THANKS TO YOU, I CAN'T!"

Harry sped over with a roar of rage as he slammed his shoulders into the man's gut, sending them both to the ground. Harry got on top of the man, who could only weakly defend himself against the boy's strength. Harry then slammed his fist into James' face, again and again, until James' head was nothing but a paste on the floor. Harry didn't stop there, though. He then started hammering on James' entire body, breaking every bone and twisting joints at unnatural angles, screaming hoarsely all the while. When he was done, and there was only a mangled, headless corpse, Harry stood back up, panting heavily with fresh tears running down his face.

"Did you know about it?" he asked Meerlinda weakly.

"I thought it was only temporary," she admitted. "I didn't know he was capable of granting the Mark permanently. And I didn't know that he possessed it himself."

Harry nodded tiredly, and walked back to the chair, which he plumped down on. Tired. Sad. Angry. Hollow. All things Harry felt as he sat there.

"How long until the Mark revives him?"

"Ten hours. Give or take a few."

Harry just stared at the body, before he stood up and headed to his room.

"When he does, tell him I'm not sorry."

Meerlinda just nodded as Harry slammed his door closed, and winced as she heard him roughly throw things around. She knew, at that moment, that Harry would never truly be happy again… and it broke her cold, unbeating heart in a way she had never imagined possible.


	4. Chapter 4

Preemptive Strikes

Harry sat on the bench in the park where he used to meet Dee. The elder hadn't come through for him, as he had hoped. It still infuriated him, but he should have known better. Harry heard a small crack, and soon, an elderly man sat next to him, clearly not in Muggle clothes.

"Fleur keeps begging her parents to let her see you," Dumbledore said. "Her mental state seems to be… deteriorating. France's best psychologists and psychiatrists are working with her, but they tell me that she needs someone who makes her feel safe."

"Her parents made her feel safe her entire childhood," Harry countered.

"But they don't have the effect on her that you do."

"Right, because she didn't lose _their_ child."

"Harry, it wasn't he–"

"I know that, Albus, but she thinks that," Harry said with a slightly wavering voice. "Right after… she woke up, she kept trying to tell me that she was sorry, that she should have been ready. I told her it wasn't her fault. She wouldn't listen."

"Just for one night, Harry," Albus pleaded. "She needs you now more than ever."

"Fine. One night. I have work to get back to."

"Don't you want to see her?" Albus asked.

"It's all I think of," Harry admitted. "But I'm starting an offensive against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I need to deploy as soon as possible."

Dumbledore sighed and grabbed Harry's arm, before Harry felt himself be sucked away. He landed roughly on his behind on a carpet of a living room. Dumbledore had already moved to stand, so he was solidly on his feet. Harry pushed himself off the floor while looking at Dumbledore with slight exasperation. Fleur's parents slowly entered the room. Apolline looked sad and crestfallen, but her husband looked furious.

"Four months," the French wizard began. "Four months. She loses her child, and you disappear to God knows where, for four months!" he muttered tensely.

"_We_ lost _our_ child, Sebastien," Harry said. "And I wasn't 'God knows where'. I was in London."

"You should have been here!" the man shouted. "With her!"

"I have other responsibilities," Harry said, and was getting slightly more riled up as he spoke. "I don't have the luxury of doing as I please. Had I not been Harry Potter, had I not been the one who had to destroy Voldemort, I would have taken Fleur to the other side of the world, far away from this god–forsaken war! I'd have taken her anywhere, anywhere at all, as long as none of this shit would have ever reached us!"

Sebastien Delacour stormed up to the boy, and Harry held his hand out to stop Dumbledore from stopping the French man. When he came up, the man grabbed Harry by his jacket and threw him over the coffee table, making Apolline scream. Harry didn't raise his hand to defend himself as Sebastien knocked him about, punched him in the face, kneed him in the gut, or slammed his head into furniture and the walls. Harry just took it all, and when Sebastien dropped to his knees, exhausted, Harry only sported a few small cuts and bruises which healed almost instantly.

"You sent her away… when she needed you… the most!" Sebastien huffed. "What good fiancé would do that!?"

"A good fiancé wouldn't," Harry said calmly. "Fleur knew who she was going to marry. She knew I had other responsibilities. Ones that exclude me from being a good person. Until Voldemort's gone, I don't have the luxury of just being a good fiancé to her. I have to be the monster who rids the world of a tyrant. I am going to slaughter the Death Eaters, and I will spare none. People will fear me, hate me, fuck, they will say that I am just as bad as Voldemort. And I will live with that. Whether or not Fleur will marry me after all this is done doesn't really matter. I only matter as long as Voldemort exists. After that… well…"

With that, Harry walked past Apolline and made his way through the safehouse, which was more akin to a mansion. He could smell Fleur, though it seemed she hadn't showered in days, at the very least. He quickly found the room where she was being held, unlocked the door, and opened it. Fleur was lying on her bed, facing the wall. She seemed completely calm, even though she didn't have a sheet to sleep with. The room was almost bare. She had thrown off her clothes, which lay next to the bed, and was lying naked on it. For once, her nudity didn't affect Harry at all. The feelings they had for one another had changed with the death of their child, he knew that much. He also noticed that she was incredibly thin, and her ribs and spine were clearly visible under the skin of her back. Her once brilliant, silver hair was dull and matte, and her radiance, once perfect, was gone. Harry walked over and sat down next to the bed. Fleur reacted, letting him know that she was awake. He leant down and kissed her thin, bony shoulder. She had trouble with turning around, and when her eyes landed on his face, they went from a dull grey to a vibrant blue.

"Harry," she whispered weakly and hoarsely. Her eyes watered, and her thin, weak arms tried lifting up to touch him, but couldn't quite reach him. He took her hands in his and held them to his face. "_Mon amour_."

"I'm here, _mon cherie_," he whispered back. "I'm here."

Tears rolled down her face.

"Don't look at me," she murmured and looked down at herself. "I'm hideous."

"You've seen better days," Harry whispered with a small smile, "but you will always be beautiful to me, my love."

He kissed her forehead gently.

"Let's get you a warm bath, hmm?" he asked.

•••

Harry sat behind Fleur in the large bathtub, holding her gently to himself. She was anorexic, with the way her skin was pulled so tight around her bones, and that her muscle was nowhere to be found.

"You need to eat, Fleur," Harry whispered. "This is really unhealthy."

"I can't."

"Well, you need to. I know you feel horrible, I truly do, but knowing that you starve yourself, that you try to take your own life," he held up one of her arms, revealing the slowly fading and still slightly red scars on her wrist and forearm, "hurts me more than anything else."

"What about our child?" she asked and leant her head back against his shoulder. "_Our child_. She di–"

"I know, love," Harry whispered. "That night haunts me every time I sleep. But… she's gone. And all we can do is look forward. We can have children in the future. We were just unlucky this time."

"You say it like it's that simple."

"It'll never be simple. I will never forget what happened, and I will never fully move past it, I don't think. But it happened. You're still here, and I'm still here. As long as we love each other, we can recover, and rebuild."

Fleur leant back and just rested against her fiancé, feeling true comfort for the first time in months.

"You have to leave again, right?"

"Right. When I'm gone, I don't want you to do anything to harm yourself again. I couldn't bear it if I lost you too."

"Alright," she muttered, and closed her eyes as the man she loved gently scrubbed her body with a sponge.

"Alright," Harry muttered and kissed Fleur gingerly on her cheek. "If you still love me when I'm done… I'll come back, and I will never leave your side, ever again."

•••

Harry left Fleur's room after he made sure she was sleeping soundly. He had left her with a small stack of photos that Meerlinda had taken over the years, before they both agreed to stop. He had also left his personal diary. He rarely wrote in it, though over the four months, he had looked back on periods he had experienced, and written down what he thought. He quietly walked back to the living room where Dumbledore sat and talked with Fleur's parents in hushed tones.

"She's asleep," Harry said. "I left her some things she might like."

Albus stood up, as did Apolline. Sebastien remained seated, clearly still angry at his daughter's fiancé. Harry walked over to Dumbledore and took his arm. They swiftly apparated back to the park they had left. Harry wordlessly parted ways with Dumbledore and walked through the streets of London.

_First target: Nott residence._

•••

Harry was sitting in a tree around the estate. It was larger than he had anticipated, but that wouldn't be a problem. There weren't any guards, nor any dogs. The child, Theodore Nott of about Harry's age, was at Hogwarts, so every human inside was a valid target. Harry pulled up his hood, made sure his backpack and pistol holster were all fastened tight, and then he jumped from the tree, rolled as he landed, and took off running towards the house. He ran silently towards the wall surrounding the estate. He was really happy that it was a good distance away from anything. He quickly and silently scaled the wall and jumped down the other side. He closed in on the side of the small mansion itself, and started climbing towards an open window. Harry jumped in and saw a woman in an armchair reading the news. A Death Eater mask lay on a nearby table. Harry silently crept up behind her, pulled a knife from the sheath on his lower back, and jabbed it into her spine. He swept through rooms and corridors, clad in death. The Nott family had quite a few members, as four core families lived in the estate, but only one child in the family existed, and he was at Hogwarts. Not a single life was left in the building when the assassin left. Harry scoured the estate for Death Eater regalia. There was a fair bit, and he made sure to put it on display next to the body they had belonged to. He then took a few books and artefacts before he left.

•••

Hermione, Ginny, and Ron entered the great hall in the morning of Saturday. To their huge surprise, Theodore Nott was sitting at the Slytherin table surrounded by his year mates… crying like there was no tomorrow?

"The bloody…?" Ron muttered as he saw it.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

Fred, sitting next to Angelina and George, held up a newspaper. He was completely pale. Hermione took it and read it. As she did, she paled considerably as well.

_TRAGEDY BEFALLS THE NOTTS AT THE HANDS OF A GHOST!?_

_Last night, unknown assailants attacked the Nott residence, known as a family with their name on the Sacred Twenty–Eight list. Many books and artefacts seem to have been stolen, and all the residents of the estate were found murdered by use of bladed weapons, all stab wounds indicating thin, narrow blades. Beside every resident was found a complete set of Death Eater robes, definitely laid out by the assailant according to our source. This was, according to them, a message to all Death Eaters and supporters of You–Know–Who out there that someone is coming for them. Outside was a name written in the dirt of the estate's gardens, reading 'Tom Riddle', with the 'i' in the last name having a shape similar to Harry Potter's famous scar._

_This may be related to a statement released by students of Hogwarts; according to many of the Slytherin house, an apparition of __**Harry Potter**__ was seen in their common room, haunting young Draco Malfoy from the pure–blood Malfoy family. However, according to the students, he left very real footprints which can still be seen on the rug of the Slytherin common room. According to these students, the footprint is made of blood. A number of older Slytherin boys haven't been seen since that night on Hogwarts, as well, leading students to believe that 'Harry Potter' killed them. That same evening, according to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Fleur Delacour, who had begun teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, left the staff. Two students report seeing Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall supporting the several months pregnant woman to a bathroom, though no longer pregnant. We here at The Daily Prophet believe that we have found the truth of the matter. We believe that Harry Potter has somehow managed to survive the past summer's tragedy. We believe that Miss Delacour was pregnant with his child, and that these older Slytherin boys beat her until she lost her baby. We believe that Harry Potter, who must have been hiding in the castle or under a disguise we believe to be 'Jack Evans', the Slytherin–turned–Gryffindor who got Dolores Umbridge arrested for torturing students, then proceeded to kill the Slytherin students who killed his unborn child._

_This theory was sent in via an anonymous letter, with thorough documentation on the how's and why's, and we believe it to be true. We believe that Harry Potter is still out there, and we will divulge all information as we receive it. However, it would seem that Harry Potter is not as good a boy as Dumbledore claimed he was, as, if he really is behind on the attack on the Nott estate, he is very clearly a terrorist framing his wanton destruction as delivering justice on former Death Eaters. Our condolences go out to Theodore Nott, the last of his family. We truly sympathise with you in this hour of your sorrow._

Beside the text was a moving black–white picture of Ministry officials standing around the corpses of the Nott family, lined up and covered in white sheets. There was also a picture of the drawings in the dirt. Hermione handed the paper to Ron, who paled after reading it as well.

"So this is war?" he muttered. "Awful."

"Of course it was Harry," Hermione muttered, and a few tears rolled down her face for the sorrow of her friend, as well as his inhumanity.

Only a monster could do something so horrific.

•••

Fleur sat in the living room of her father's safehouse, graciously donated by the French Ministry of Magic. She read the English wizarding newspaper with red, swollen eyes. She then put the newspaper down and reluctantly raised the fork to her mouth and started eating her breakfast again. Sebastien was internally seething as he watched his daughter so distressed, yet her terrible fiancé was nowhere to be seen.

•••

Lucius Malfoy sat in his study as he read the paper. His cold, grey eyes swiftly scanned the page, taking all the relevant information in and storing it.

"It would seem that the Dark Lord underestimated Potter," he dawdled to his wife who was reading a copy of her own next to him.

"We all did," Narcissa nodded seriously. "Who could have thought a fifteen–year–old was capable of this?"

"Fair point," Lucius agreed. "Still, I doubt he's working alone. The Ministry would never support him with this, nor would any institution of our world. He must work with outside forces."

"Ones trained in stealth and assassination," Narcissa agreed. "I will make sure some of our Muggle–feelers are looking out for him in Muggle London."

"Thank you, wife," Lucius said and put the paper down before he took a quill and parchment and began writing. "Please make sure to hire some security, as well. I doubt Potter would be so brazen as to attack _us_, but with new evidence that he isn't as inclined to the light as Dumbledore, we can never be too careful."

Narcissa nodded stoically and left the study.

•••

Harry sat perched on a rooftop in Knockturn Alley, the darkness covering his form as he wore all–black mission–gear and had his hood pulled up. His eyes glowed dimly yellow as he observed the streets below. He sat, waiting patiently like the eagle waiting to swoop down to take a small animal. Until finally, he saw his mark; Peter Pettigrew, disguised only with a long hood. Though most wouldn't have recognised him through it, Harry recognised his unmistakable walk and his inherent hesitance and permanent state of mild panic. Harry's eyes flared brightly as his anger swelled, but he calmed it down. He waited until Pettigrew was close, and then he jumped down on the small man. The pitiful excuse of a man squeaked, but Harry swiftly covered the rat's mouth with his hand, and used the other to pull him into an empty alley. He kneed Peter in the gut, and then forced him against a wall.

"Hello Peter," he muttered darkly and looked into the wretched sack of shit's wide, fearful eyes. "How did you escape Azkaban?"

Harry pulled his hand down just a little to let the little man talk.

"I–I–I–I w–wa–s he–help–ed!" the terrified man whined. "Pu–Puh–lease don–n't kill mmmmmme!"

"Who helped you?" Harry asked. When the man started crying and let his head fall, Harry kneed the man in the crotch, and then picked the man back up after his knees had collapsed beneath him. "Who helped you!?"

"D–D–Dol–oho–v!" Peter groaned in pain and fear. "An–Anton–in Dolo–hov!"

"Thank you, Peter," Harry said with a dark smile. "You just earned a release from this cruel, cruel world."

Peter's eyes widened in fear and he began whining loudly, but it was swiftly silenced when the flash of a knife dug right into the pudgy man's throat, eliciting a gurgling noise from his mouth as his blood flooded his larynx and windpipe, and his eyes slowly rolled back into his head. Harry held the corpse firmly against the wall until the last of the death rattles and twitches had ceased. He then retracted the blade and let the body go. It landed on the ground with a dull thud, and Harry crouched down over the corpse. He placed the knife to Pettigrew's forehead, before he started carving a lightning bolt, like his own faded scar, under which he carved the word 'traitor'. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he dragged the body to the entrance of the alley and laid it on display in the middle. He then swiftly and silently left the wizarding community in central London.

•••

Harry entered the chantry and headed down the stairs to see James and Meerlinda sitting at a new table, since he had ruined the old one. James looked up and stood when he saw the boy.

"Tell me about the Mark," Harry said coldly without looking at the man.

"Har–"

"The _MARK_," Harry said harshly. "_Now_."

"It isn't the original Mark of Cain," James sighed in defeat. "It's a spell which was invented many thousands of years ago to emulate legends of it. The only thing it does is resurrect the human who bears it anytime he dies, and stops his aging."

"And it can't be removed?"

"I've tried reversing it for a few centuries, but not as of yet," James said guiltily.

Harry then for the first time in four months looked at James, but the warmth his eyes had once held for James was long gone, replaced with cold indifference.

"Then you will continue working on reversing it," the eternally sixteen–year–old said coldly. "Until you need to test the subversion, I have nothing more to talk with you about. If that changes, you will know."

With that, Harry walked to his room and closed the door behind him. James followed closely behind him, but as he opened the door, he was flung two metres back as a loud roar from a shotgun resounded in the stone structure, and the corpse on the floor bled from at least two dozen small holes in its torso and slowly cooled down. The bedroom door was closed again, leaving Meerlinda to look sadly at the recently deceased man on the ground who would be up and walking again within twelve hours.

"What has all this come to?" she muttered and took a sip of the wine glass with a deep red liquid in it.

•••

A pale woman walked down a street in London scarcely populated at the late hour of the night. The men who stayed out that late, however, definitely took notice of her. Her deep brown hair, tied in a ponytail and leaving some bangs in front, reached her shoulders, and her eyes were obscured by shades. She wore tight jeans, an open leather jacket revealing a black bra underneath a fishnet top. On her feet were black leather boots with short, wide heels. She strode confidently down the street, her hidden eyes constantly scanning her surroundings. Once in a while, a little breeze lifted her jacket a little, revealing a shoulder holster carrying a semi–automatic Glock pistol under her left arm, and a knife under her right. Her face scrunched up slightly when a young man, no older than eighteen and clearly drunk from the rotten alcohol–breath he blew in her face, stumbled in front of her and gave her a slurred smile.

"Wassup, girl?" he asked. "You look fiiine."

"Talking to ladies like that will not get you laid," she said with a slightly German accent and an impassive face. "Get lost, kid."

She tried moving around him, but some of his less drunk friends moved in front of her.

"Where you think you're goin', missy?" one of them said. "We ar'n't done with ye."

"Yes you are," a somewhat young–sounding yet masculine voice came from the alley right next to them, and a pair of pale yellow eyes glowed dimly in the shadow of the alley. "That's no way to talk to a woman."

"What're ye gonna do, punk?" the shit–faced guy asked with a drunken giggle. "Fight us?"

"No, I'm not," the silhouette said. "She is."

"Wuh–"

But before he could say anything more, a heeled boot was slammed into his face, sending him crashing to the ground unconscious. Before any of the others could react, they were all lying on the pavement, clutching various body parts and groaning. The woman's shades had slipped somewhat, revealing glowing red eyes which were trained on the silhouette with yellow eyes.

"Those are new," she said and gestured at the eyes.

"I got some upgrades since last," Harry muttered as he stepped out of the shadows. "It's good to see you again, Catherine."

Catherine smirked and quickly walked over to him before pulling him into a tight hug, especially pulling his face into her bosom. He was a good few inches shorter than her, so it worked out fine, though she didn't get the reaction she had hoped for. She pulled away and looked at him, to see that he wasn't blushing, and that he was just smiling a little sadly.

"Well, that's grown up of you," she muttered.

"I'm engaged," Harry said. "Not that things are working out like I had hoped, but I'm handling it."

"Engaged?" Catherine asked with surprise and a wicked smile. "My little boyfriend's all grown up, it seems."

"I was never your boyfriend," Harry retorted and pulled back into the alley.

"Nah, but you wanted to be," Catherine countered as she followed him.

"True," he admitted. "But I was eight, and you were always the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Until recently, that is."

"So, do I get to meet your fiancé?"

"No, she's hiding in France," Harry shook his head.

"Why?" Catherine asked curiously. "Cause of this 'Voldyshorts' dude?"

"Voldemort," Harry corrected her, downcast. "And, yes… partially."

Catherine went silent, a clear sign she wanted more information.

"We… she was pregnant," Harry said and leant with his back against one of the walls. "Until some of Voldemort's aspiring followers did as he asked and… murdered our unborn child. She's safe in France. And she won't be here to see what happens when you take something dear to me."

Catherine, for once, was rendered speechless. She just looked at him with a sad frown, until she pulled him into a genuine hug.

"I'm sorry, baby," she said and caressed the back of his head with her one hand as the other rubbed his back and shoulders. She kissed his forehead and held him close.

"Thanks," he muttered as he wrapped his arms around her, his shoulders started shaking and she felt water drip onto her chest.

"I'll do whatever it takes to help you," she muttered into his hair. "Together, always and forever, right?"

"Right," he mumbled against her chest.

They stood like that for a few minutes, but when they pulled back, Harry smiled and wiped his tears away.

"I'm going after them. Every last one of them."

"I'll be beside you every step of the way," Catherine said as she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. "Where do we begin?"

"In the eastern Welsh countryside," Harry said. "We're butchering a family called Avery. They've been followers and supporters of Voldemort ever since the current patriarch was a school boy."

"Let's not waste any time, then," Catherine smiled.

Harry smiled back and took her hand, and they disappeared with a 'plop'.

It's A Massacre

Twenty–year–old Alicia Avery sat in her room, humming as she threaded a needle through some dark robes bearing silver embroidery. She wondered what her little brother was doing at Hogwarts.

"Hope he's made friends with the Malfoy boy," she muttered to herself. "He needs the connection."

She kept humming and threading the needle until she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She looked down to see something red sticking out of chest, right where her heart was. The robe she was repairing stained dark red with drops of a liquid dripping off the object protruding from her chest. She felt a hand being placed over her mouth, but all of a sudden, she felt too tired to do anything about it. The thing went back inside her, until she saw the bloodied blade come down in front of her eyes and felt it rest on her throat, before she felt a pressure in the connection from her body to her head, and the world slowly went dark.

Harry pulled the head of the woman back by the mouth, letting the blood from her severed throat splash all over the robes she was needling. The woman went limp and her eyes shut. Harry and Catherine, holding her standard American army–knife, quietly crept out of the room. Catherine was the first to react when a man came from one side of the hallway outside. She jabbed the knife into the man's throat and pulled him inside before placing a hand on his mouth as she pushed the knife out the front of his throat, exposing the severed arteries and windpipe. She stood back up and tapped Harry on the shoulder, signalling him to keep moving. He did, very silently, and crept down the hall. His machete was ready to hack into anyone, and as it happened, an older woman left one of the rooms. Harry tackled the woman to the floor as Catherine moved inside the room and threw an older man to the ground. Harry heaved the machete high and swung it down with enough force to completely destroy the woman's skull, and Catherine drove her knife into the old man's throat, turned it up, and into his head.

The pair got back up and started running through the halls of the minor estate. Blood splattered every surface, and not a syllable was uttered from any of the fifteen victims, family and guests. As with the Nott Estate, Harry made sure to find all the Death Eater regalia and place them next to the corpse they belonged to. Harry and Catherine then left the Avery household, though Harry did momentarily turn around and looked at the house.

"What is it?" Catherine asked.

Without answering, Harry whipped out his wand and flung it, sending a large gout of fire towards the estate, which caught on and began very slowly burning.

"Just sending a message," Harry said as he turned around and took Catherine's hand before they disappeared once more with a quiet 'plop'.

•••

Lucius Malfoy sat nervously at the long table in the small ballroom of his mansion, a few seats from the Dark Lord himself.

"As I presume you all know," Voldemort said with a voice that would have made any normal–looking person seem a hundred times more charismatic, yet only made his inhuman countenance that much more terrible to behold, "the Nott and Avery estates have been attacked, leaving no survivors. Avery's house was burned, but the Ministry was able to find their masks among the debris. I am here to address this issue tonight."

The table had a few unoccupied spots, the owners of which had passed in the past few months.

"Not only that, but several of our more esteemed numbers have been mercilessly butchered, left in the streets to be found. It is glaringly obvious that someone wishes me to know that they will try to kill me. Does anyone have any news or information to share?"

None of the almost fifteen people moved a muscle, though Antonin Dolohov cleared his throat quietly.

"Pettigrew was found dead in Knockturn Alley a few days ago, my lord," he said without looking up. "He bore a wound in the same shape as the scar of the Potter boy, and he had the word 'traitor' carved in his forehead."

"Alas, I had a suspicion," Voldemort smirked humourlessly. "It would seem that it is true. My loyal servants, it would seem that The Boy Who Lived is nothing but a dirty, filthy little murderer hiding in the shadows. He does take arguable credit for his kills, though, so maybe he isn't so much a coward as he is an efficient assassin. I do commend him, he has done a terrific work of decimating our forces, as irritating as it is. Yaxley, have you reached out to the werewolves?"

Yaxley nodded.

"They've agreed to aid us. Greyback was invaluable in winning them over."

"Perhaps I will let him play with Potter before I end him myself," Voldemort mused darkly. "What about the vampires, Tanner?"

"I got an audience with one who was called 'Prince Dee', but he refused to submit to us. When I tried to cast the Imperious curse on him, he laughed at me and said that he would let me live for showing such daring."

"It did not affect him?"

"No, my lord, it did not," Tanner replied. "I have been unable to find any information on this 'prince'."

"How bothersome. Try harder."

"Of course, my lord."

"Prince Dee won't help you because he has a certain allegiance to Harry Potter," a voice called out into the room.

All besides Voldemort rose and drew their wands. A man with dark skin stepped out of the shadow the balcony at the end of the table. With a flick of the wand, Tanner sent a green jet of light, characteristic of the Killing curse, at the man. It struck him in the centre of the chest, and he merely looked down at where it had hit. Nothing happened. The dark–skinned man looked up at them with a cheeky grin, revealing a pair of fangs.

"If you try to kill something that is already dead with this, I doubt you will fare well in battle against Potter."

People looked stunned, but Voldemort at the end of the table smirked.

"Who are you?"

"Montgomery Coven," the man answered, "but you may call me Coven."

"I see, Coven," Voldemort dawdled and gestured for the vampire to sit in the chair at the end of the table. "What brings you here tonight?"

"That Potter boy tried double–crossing me," the Assamite said with a toothy smirk. "Faked his own death to get out of a favour he owed me. While I would usually commend him for doing such a good job of convincing me, he really shouldn't have shown up in Dee's court after his 'execution'."

"And what do you want in return for your cooperation in bringing him down?" Voldemort asked. "Gold? Power?"

"Gold means nothing to me, and I have power," Coven replied. "What I want… is unlimited access to your resources when you get what you want. Items, manpower, magic, whatever."

"But how can I trust that you will deliver on your end of the deal?" Voldemort countered. "You have nothing to show for what you can offer me."

"Is that right, Tom?"

Voldemort's mouth twitched downwards for only an instant.

"How do you know my name?"

"I think the more pertinent question is: How do I know about Wool's Orphanage, the Gaunts, the Senior or Little Hangleton?" Coven mused. "I am a gatherer of information, Mr Riddle. I gather it, analyse it, store it, and trade in it. And I have done so for a long, long time. You were born in the mid–twenties, after all. I have been around for a substantially longer period of time. Now, do you want my services, or not?"

Voldemort's red eyes glinted dangerously, and with a smirk, Coven's eyes started glowing bright red as well, making Voldemort's eye twitch.

"Very well," Voldemort said. "You shall have unrestricted access once I come to power."

"Fantastic," Coven said and kicked his feet up on the table. "Where do you want to begin?"

"Tell me of this 'Dee'," Voldemort said, "and how he relates to Potter."

"Right. Well you see, Dee is quite an old and powerful vampire, and he was sired by Meerlinda, the mistress and mentor of Harry Potter. He refuses to aid you because–"

•••

"I see," Voldemort nodded slightly as Coven's explanation of why Dee wouldn't help the Death Eaters concluded. "Then what about Potter himself? He is… a 'tribrid', you said?"

"Of a sort," Coven said and took down his feet before he leant over the table and folded his arms on the surface of it. "He is fundamentally completely human. That is, the very core of his being, his soul, remains perfectly human. His body has been enhanced, modified. First, he was made part werewolf, by using body parts of several different species of werewolves, making his body highly adaptable, not only to hostile environments such as deserts, jungles and tundra, but to bodily alterations as well. You know, absorbing diseases and toxins to make his body more resistant, and eventually even immune to them in the future. And, to being modified into being a partial vampire. You could say that his soul is human, and his body is a vampire–werewolf hybrid. As such, he has access to the various powers of both, but also some of their weaknesses. Adding to that, he is incredibly intelligent and has extremely well–developed wits, not to mention that he's a wizard." Coven couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face. "A highly dangerous foe indeed, that Potter boy."

"It would seem so," Voldemort said, though he did sneer, however slightly. "To imagine such a filthy mixture would be so powerful. And you said that 'Meerlinda' taught him assassination?"

"I theorise," Coven said. "Only they can know for certain. But what I've gathered about him does seem to suggest it."

"I see."

All of a sudden, a door to the room burst open and three men entered, all clad in Death Eater robes, and two of them carrying the third. They reached the end of the table Coven sat at and kneeled down after dropping the third.

"My lord, we have dire news!" one of them exclaimed from under the mask.

Voldemort slowly, ever so slowly, rose from his seat, and very slowly stalked towards them.

"Speak," he hissed.

"We just apparated from the werewolf camp where Yaxley told us to remain as ambassadors to the wolves! They've been slaughtered, my lord!"

Voldemort stiffened, only for an instant.

"What do you mean?" he asked coldly.

"The werewolves we won over are all dead, my lord!" the other exclaimed, his head never rising. "Including Fenrir Greyback!"

The Dark Lord reached the pair and flung off one of the masks, and the man who wore it stared into Voldemort's gleaming red eyes, quivering with fear as Voldemort looked deep into the man's eyes, and suddenly, the Dark Lord rushed into the memories of the quivering man.

•••

"_Come on, Johnson," I called to my compatriot who was staring out into the darkness of the forest. "We need to get some rest. We've already watched for six hours now. It's time for the shift."_

"_Right," Johnson called back and started trudging back towards me between the trees. "When we get back, though, pour me some of that fire–whis–"_

_His speech was silenced, just as I heard a multitude of screams and roars from behind me. I chose to let Johnson handle himself and return to the camp to see what went on. As I entered the camp, I noticed that many of the tents and huts were set ablaze, and the werewolves inhabiting them were tumbling around, blazing almost as brightly as the covers they slept under. Others had banded together in formations, covering all angles, and others were just staring around wildly. There were plenty of wands drawn, but many of them had been unfortunate enough to not have any. As I looked towards one of the boundaries of the clearing, I noticed a silver gleam, and I quickly apparated over there. When I arrived, there was nothing, though I saw a woman, bisected at the waist with glassy eyes and her face contorted in a terrified scream. I then heard the cries and screams from where I had just been, and saw that the werewolves over there were falling to someone cleaving them with a sword. His slashes were instant, and the werewolves dropped like flies in his path. He then momentarily disappeared until he reappeared in the utmost corner of my field of view, and I saw him cut down a small group of lycanthropic children, the oldest no older than twelve. He had no mercy, no hesitation. I couldn't keep track has he instantly jumped back and forth between groups of werewolves, or jumped to stragglers, and cut them down, one by one. But I also noticed that he seemed to appear two places at once. I managed to apparate close to him once, however, and noticed that it was not a man, but rather a woman wearing distinctly muggle clothes. Her skin was pale in the light of the fires, which she stayed rather far away from, and her eyes glowed ominous red. I quickly apparated away, only to appear close to the other, who was indeed a man; Harry Potter. Black hair, glowing yellow eyes, slightly pale skin, and a face of grim determination. His eyes locked on me, and he briefly smiled, but then disappeared, without the characteristic look or sound of apparition. I then heard a loud roar from behind me as Fenrir Greyback, only partially transformed because he accepted his bestial nature, had managed to knock the curved silver sword out of Potter's hand. After he lost it, though, he kept fighting with his bare hands, until Fenrir slashed the boy across the face and gave him four thick, deep wounds. Potter, fell to one knee, and Greyback took it as his opening to attack. Only because of my vantage point did I see the smirk growing on Potter's face, and as I tried to shout, to warn Greyback, Potter straightened up and grabbed the clawed hand striking down at him. He flipped up, wrapped his legs around the werewolf's arm, and pulled, breaking the lycanthrope's elbow joint with brutal efficiency, causing Greyback to howl in pain. Potter then kicked Greyback in the face, and as Greyback was rising using one good hand, Potter stepped up behind the beast, grabbed onto his head tightly, and with a deafening and frightening roar of rage, he pulled pack and tore the werewolf's head straight off. He howled in victory and threw the head into the air, before he suddenly fell over and landed on his hands and knees. He started roaring in pain, and as Landon closed in to try and take him down once and for all, the boy was gone, and in his place was a huge, black–furred, and panting monster of a werewolf, easily three metres tall, and howled a terrifying sound. He struck Landon with his claws and flung him several metres into the air and back. Landon just barely landed, before the beast had pounced him and started tearing into his chest with his claws. He managed to tear out Landon's heart, and then stuffed it in his snout before chewing it thoroughly and swallowing it. He and the woman then went about finishing off the stragglers. The woman advanced on me, and I was paralysed by fear of the gigantic creature, a being more destructive, malevolent and terrible than I could ever have imagined to exist. The beast, however, stopped her, and turned back into a naked Potter, covered in dirt, blood, and soot from head to toe, his eyes still glowing a pale yellow and the wounds from the claws on his face still healing very slowly._

"_Let him live," Potter said, and looked at me coldly. "After all, I suspect you'll want to see this… eh, Tom?"_

_Potter then grinned wickedly and knelt before me, looking deeply into my eyes._

"_I became this monster solely to bring you down. You should feel honoured, really. I'm coming for you, Tom," Potter muttered with a dark, malicious, sadistic and maniacal smile. "I'm coming for you, and nothing's going to get in my way. Not even your precious horcruxes. This is for my father… my mother… and my daughter," when he said the last part, his smile faded._

_Then, the teen struck out with a flat palm, and everything went black._

•••

Voldemort stood up straight and looked ahead into nothingness. He had never expected to see something so cruel from Dumbledore's little champion of the light. Frankly, it excited him, a small, irrational part of his mind thinking of what he couldn't accomplish if he could turn the boy to his own services. But then the larger, more logical and rational part of his mind spoke that such thinking was foolish, idiotic. He turned around. Just as the two Death Eaters kneeling sighed in relief, Voldemort whirled around, his bone–white wand raised.

"Avada Kedavra," he said calmly, and two bolts of green light shot out, each landing in the chest of one of the harbingers of the bad news.

"Take the corpse from the locale," he said coldly, turned around, and waved his hand dismissively.

"Potter?" Coven asked with a smirk.

Voldemort nodded.

"Indeed. It would seem that he just a tad more dangerous that I had anticipated," Voldemort said coldly. "He singlehandedly brought down Greyback in less than thirty seconds, not to mention that the slaughter of the entire camp seems to have taken less than ten minutes."

There were quiet whispers around the table, murmurs discussing the circumstances of the boy as the bodies were being levitated out of the room.

"Anyone who sees Potter is to attempt to kill him on sight," Voldemort said calmly, though everyone heard him loud and clear. "If you cannot, try at least to capture him. Consider him the target of open hunting season."

There was a general mutter of 'yes my lord' around the table. Voldemort looked at Coven and waved him over.

"You are all dismissed," The Dark Lord said as Coven came closer. "Now… tell me everything of import."

•••

Harry sat in the underground bathhouse of the chantry, built in the style of the ancient Greeks and Romans, with some Turkish influence. He sat nude on the tiled floor with a leg in one of the pools, his other leg bent and pressed to his chest, supporting his cheek and held in place by his interlocked arms. He was still covered in sweat, blood, dirt and soot. He looked idly into the floor next to him, thinking about everything and nothing. Soon, Catherine sat next to him, nude and covered in grime as well, though mostly in the face, on the stomach, and on her hands, though some had seeped through her other clothes, as well, yet her body was completely pale and somewhat cold. The high temperature of the bathhouse did warm her skin a little. She was, by all definitions, a gorgeous woman. Her bosom was ample, yet practical. Her hind quarters the same, and her overall physique was well–toned, slightly muscular, but not by any amount that it would seem unpleasing to anyone. She smiled sadly at him. She was truly, until recently, the perfect and most beautiful woman in the world in Harry's eyes. And yet, her nude, unbridled glory was no longer enough to provoke a reaction in Harry. And he doubted it was only because he loved Fleur. He momentarily wondered if, after what happened, he would ever feel such things again.

"I've never seen you like that before," she muttered.

"Yeah, well, I never wanted _anyone_ to see it," Harry responded quietly. "Least of all Fleur."

"You know, I was much like that when David found me," Catherine mused. "Not a werewolf, of course," she grinned lightly, "but I was lost to the Beast. But he… he and Aiden… they pulled me back. Taught me how to fend for myself, how to hunt, things like that. He taught me that there are things that you should never do alone. And I think that this is one of those things."

"Hmm."

Catherine watched him wallow in sadness for a few moments before she stepped into the pool and then pulled him down with her. She wordlessly began scrubbing his body clean. He just let her. He couldn't really find the motivation, or even energy, to really do anything right then and there. He just leant against the edge of the pool, and then against her as her body supported him from the front as she reached around and scrubbed his back. Catherine didn't say anything, and just let him lean back against the side of the pool before she started cleaning herself. Harry's head laid on the tiled floor, and he stared emptily into the ceiling.

_What happens after Voldemort? What will I do? Who or what will I even be at that point?_

He closed his eyes, and silent tears started rolling out of them.

_There's… nothing. Just eternity. One day, Fleur will die, and I will keep living… forever, or until James subverts the Mark of Cain. Immortality seems so… awful. Why would Voldemort even want it? What is there to gain from it? And why world domination over muggles? What is his end–goal? Just that? Control? But who would want to rule a world where no one loves you? Who would want to even __**live**__ in such a world? And… what __**is**__ love? Is it just a chemical response in the brain, an urge to find a mate and produce offspring to continue the species? Or is it something… more? Something abstract? Unknowable? Unquantifiable? Incomprehensible? Or can it be understood only by those with a pure heart, and untarnished soul and mind? What does 'heart' and 'soul' even mean?_

Harry then opened his eyes, fresh tears sprang forth, and he thought of his mother and father.

_They loved me. They loved me enough to die to protect me._

"_**We're here, sweetheart," Lily said in her ethereal voice as the Potters floated towards their son. "We've always been here."**_

Harry closed his eyes again, and he clenched his jaw tight, his face contorting in emotional anguish.

"_**We'll see you again when it's your time, son!" James shouted over the blasting, grounding noise of the colliding spells. "But until then, live life as best you can! We will never judge you for what you've become! NOW GO!"**_

Harry's shoulders started shaking, and his breathing became small, rapid gasps through his teeth. He let out a little, wolf–like whine. Catherine gently pulled him into her arms and cradled him, her arms draped around his shoulders and his face resting in the crook of her neck. He let out sorrowful sounds, half–moans, and quick sobs as his iron walls, so carefully constructed to keep the pent–up feelings of sadness and sorrow at bay, eroded under the saltwater that was his tears, and the suppressed emotions came back with full force.

_**Look what I caught, daddy! **_**the girl's ethereal voice called out.**_** It's a butterfwy!**_

Serpentine Lockets

It was nearing Christmas, and soon, the holidays would be upon British schools, as well as Hogwarts. It was a dark, icy, night in early December that Harry was trudging through the snow on the road leading from the entrance gate to the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. His black cloak, hood pulled up tightly around his head, was covered in falling snow, and was billowing in the strong wind of cold. While the cold itself was only a minor inconvenience, the raging winds made it feel many degrees colder, and he could feel himself shiver slightly from it. It was a long trek, but he finally reached the Entrance Hall. He entered the castle and rustled his thick, heavy cloak, shaking off the worst of the snow. He gradually warmed up after he left the blizzard–like winds, and he stopped shivering as he made his way to Dumbledore's office. It was almost midnight, so he doubted anyone would see him, except maybe for Filch, but he would just use his obfuscation to hide from the bumbling squib. He reached the door and pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket.

"Chocolate truffle," he said to the statue of the griffin, and was allowed to enter.

"Harry," Dumbledore said and rose from his seat. Concern and pity was etched in his face, and he seemed like he was several decades older than he was. "How are you?"

"I've been better," Harry said quietly, his face covered by the shadows from the cloak's hood, hiding his red, swollen eyes and frozen tears from the man. "You had new information on the horcruxes?"

Dumbledore studied the boy for a moment, and then nodded before he went around his desk and pulled out a diadem. It was silver with sapphires inlaid in it, but it had gathered plenty of dust. It was bent, however; it had indentations, as if struck with something hard and narrow.

"Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem," the old wizard said. "A long sought–after artefact, said to make it's wearer the cleverest person in the world. As it turns out, Voldemort used it as a horcrux. I also think I have located the remaining two, and know what they are."

Harry remained silent, a clear sign for Dumbledore to continue.

"One, I suspect, is the snake Voldemort has with him at all times. Nagini, as I recall you told me of your confrontation in the graveyard."

Harry nodded to show that Dumbledore recalled correctly.

"And I think the last would have to be the locket of Salazar Slytherin," Dumbledore said. "I even think I might have a location as to where it is. The orphanage Voldemort lived in took their children to a place once a year. Quite far from anything, and close to where I suspect he could have hidden the locket in a cave." He reached down and took a small stack of parchment and laid it on the edge of the desk. "All the information I have been able to find of the place is there."

Harry walked over and took the stack of parchment. He then started skimming over them.

"Thank you, Albus," he said and stuffed the parchment in a large inner pocket in his cloak, upon which he had cast an undetectable extension charm. "I will prepare myself for anything I can before I leave for the cave. Who knows what kind of protections Tom has placed."

Dumbledore frowned at the reference to Voldemort as 'Tom', but he didn't question it.

"I suggest you rest for the holidays, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "I know this is important to you. But Voldemort works slowly, cautiously. You have time."

"I just want all this to be over with," Harry muttered and turned around to leave, before he turned back. "The Sword?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said with a sight and pulled the Sword of Godric Gryffindor out of the glass case it was being kept in.

He levitated it over to Harry, who with a flick of his wand conjured a leather sheath for it, strapped to his hip. He took the floating weapon by the hilt and held it up, letting it gleam bright orange in the shine of the fireplace. As he saw his own green eye in the reflective blade, he swore for a moment that the eye turned light brown, the eyebrow a reddish brown, and the skin around it seemed more tan, weathered, and older. There were creases around the eye, suggesting a smile. Harry closed his eyes and placed the flat side of the blade to his forehead, just over his scar.

"Please give me the courage to finish this, Godric," he muttered quietly, and then sheathed the magnificent weapon, forged a millennium ago.

"I'll be seeing you," Harry said and left the office.

Dumbledore remained silent, and looked sorrowfully after the young boy. The young boy who had faced more, and suffered more, than any one person ever should. And while he had been bent, broken even, he didn't give up. Dumbledore knew how hard it was to keep going when everything seemed against you, and had been close to giving up several times. But Harry, being as shattered and fractured as he was, had never shown signs of being even remotely close to giving up. He would do what was right, even as he would also do wrong… but no one was perfect, and Harry, despite Dumbledore knowing that the boy had come to truly want to do good and be good, was still entombed in darkness, was suffocating in it as he kicked for the light at the surface, with no end to the struggle in sight. Dumbledore's old and tired heart was broken a little more every time he saw Harry sliding further into despair, but knew he could do nothing. A few tears rolled down the old man's face. Tears shed not for himself, but for the boy who selflessly took on the pain and suffering alone, to spare others from the same.

•••

_He was slithering down a long, black–tiled corridor. His body was long, strong, powerful. And yet, at the same time… lithe… flexible… elegant. He flicked his tongue, and caught the scent of someone. __**Prey**__. He slithered further down, and then he saw __**it**__. The prey was sitting at the side of the corridor, head drooping and chest heaving heavily, clearly asleep. He felt an ache in his teeth – no… __**fangs**__. He came closer, closer… closer… and closer still. Quietly. Silently. __**Deadly**__. When he came close enough, the urge, the desire, was too powerful. He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood… The man was yelling in pain… then he fell silent... He slumped backward against the wall… Blood was splattering onto the floor... His forehead hurt terribly... It was aching, fit to burst… and then…_

Harry sat up in his bed, sweating and panting. He knew what had happened. That was no dream. He rolled out of bed, and rose from the floor. He hurriedly put on his clothes, grabbed his wand and knife, and finally strapped on the sheath containing the Sword of Gryffindor. He then sprinted out of the chantry, and once he reached outside, he turned on the spot and 'plopped' away. He knew what he had seen, and he knew exactly where it was. He had been there only once before, having had a sneak throughout the Ministry to get to know the layout of the building for further operations which might happen in there. He had been only slightly curious, but since the door at the end of that particular corridor had no doorknob or lock, he hadn't bothered. And he knew that it wasn't a nightmare. He would never have dreamed something so strange on his own. But that begged the question; if the horcrux inside him had truly been destroyed… then why would he be able to enter the mind of Voldemort? Or even Nagini, for that matter?

Harry reappeared outside the Burrow, which he knew to be abandoned for the time being as the family stayed at Grimmauld Place. He sprinted inside and over to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, stepped inside, threw the powder on the ashes, and shouted "Ministry of Magic!" He twirled out of a fireplace inside his destination and took off in a dead sprint towards the stairs. The elevators weren't the only way to reach a floor. Harry ran down, down, down, until he reached the floor, the door to which was locked. Calling up his vampiric blood for the first time in a long while, he levelled his shoulder with the door and burst right through it, reducing it to splinters. He saw the giant snake, Nagini, slithering his way, and only stopping when it saw him. Harry drew the sword and held it ready, his face set in an angry visage.

"COME ON!" he shouted at it. "KILL ME! COME AT ME!"

The snake struck quickly, and it's fangs were caught in his right arm, but he was smiling wickedly all the same. He then brought the sword down on it's neck in a powerful slash with his left, severing the head cleanly from the body. A loud, ethereal scream emerged from it, as did a large cloud of black smoke, and the snake disintegrated into nothingness. He sheathed the sword and snapped his fingers, sending it back to the chantry. He then sprinted down the corridor the snake had come from, and saw Arthur lying on the ground, convulsing from the venom slowly killing him. Harry gasped from the pain of the magical venom in his own arm, but he pushed it down and picked Arthur up into his arms.

"I NEED HELP! SOMEONE'S BEEN INJURED!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "SOMEBODY, HELP!"

He rounded a corner, and saw a portrait with a woman he had seen in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"You!" he called at the portrait, waking it up. "Get Dumbledore! Tell him his man in the Ministry's been hurt, and needs medical attention!"

The portrait looked at him strangely for a little, but then walked out the side of the frame. Harry's knees buckled as he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder as the venom spread. He gasped in pain, and looked up at the portrait to see the man depicted return.

"People are coming for him now!" she said hastily. "Dumbledore told me to tell you to make yourself scarce! The Ministry cannot be allowed to find you in there!"

Harry nodded and gently laid Arthur on the floor, and then conjured up his vampiric cloak of shadows once more, concealing himself from human perception, though he could have sword that the eyes of the portrait followed him as he moved down the hall towards another set of stairs. He slowly made his way up the stairs as the venom in his arm very slowly spread to his chest, and the searing pain only increased.

"Must've… been… aug–mented… with… magic," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Shit!"

He made it back to the Floo places lining the atrium, and stumbled into one.

"12 Grimmauld Place," he muttered, and felt the rushing of the magical fire and transportation.

He fell out onto a hard, cold stone floor, clutching his chest as the venom finally made it to his heart. He let out a pained cry, and the last thing he heard was the sounds of voices calling his name and the scraping of chairs against the floor.

•••

When Harry next woke up, it was in a bed, with a white linen cover over his head. He was confused for a moment, but then remembered that the venom had killed him. His face and mood soured at the last part.

_Temporarily, at least_.

He sat up and pulled the cover from his body and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He stood up and checked himself. He still had his wand and knife, and he was still wearing his clothes, but his right sleeve was lightly torn, and coated with blood. He could even smell the acrid scent of the venom that had resided within Nagini. An interesting toxin, that had been. Painful, most definitely, but interesting nonetheless. Now he wished that the serpent's body was intact. He would have liked to find a way to give himself venom glands for his werewolf canines and find a way to recreate the venom in them. He had found it interesting that his vampiric and lycanthropic teeth were actually different, and he could manifest each of them as he wanted. The vampire fangs were sharper and thinner, but the werewolf teeth were bigger and tore flesh more easily.

Harry looked around and noticed that he was still at Grimmauld Place. He walked out of the room and headed downstairs into the kitchen. He found the entire Weasley clan, as well as Hermione, the Delacours, Remus, Sirius and Dumbledore, all sitting in silence. Harry rubbed his arm as he entered the room, drawing the attention of everyone present.

"This is the first time I've been happy I took the time and pain to make my werewolf–side more resistant to venom," he said and grimaced slightly. Despite having died and resurrected, the spot the snake had bit him still felt like he had dropped acid on it. "Still a really nasty venom, though."

Fleur, who had gained just a little weight and muscle back, rose from her seat, her face red, swollen and wet. She stumbled around the table and fell into Harry's arms. Harry held her tightly as she started sobbing once more into his neck.

"I'll be fine," he muttered. "I was lucky this time. Spent the better part of my time between the rituals and starting school letting myself get bitten by more and more venomous snakes in my werewolf form. It made me resistant to it, but this venom was… bad."

"You died!" she whined. "You were dead, you had no pulse!"

"I did have one," Harry shook his head. "It was just too faint for you to hear. It can happen in regular humans, too. There's even medication that can do it, to make people believe the person actually died. My body does that naturally when I've suffered too much injury, so that it can heal more efficiently. I'm quite ridiculously powerful, aren't I?" he muttered and smiled at her. "I'm fine, _mon amour_. Or at least," he grimaced and rubbed his arm again as another small wave of the acid–burn–like sensation shot though his arm, "I will be."

"Harry," Molly whispered hoarsely and rose from her chair. Her face was just as red, swollen and wet as Fleur's. "My dear boy."

Fleur stood away as Molly waddled over and pulled Harry into a tight embrace. She kissed his cheek like a mother would, and then embraced him again.

"I can't thank you enough!" she said. "You saved his life! We can never thank you enough!"

"This is plenty," Harry muttered quietly and returned the warm, familial embrace. "The only thing I regret is not making it there sooner."

The rest of the Weasleys, all showing varying degrees of having wept, rose as well, and surrounded Harry and Molly, and leant in for a family hug. Harry felt a few tears rolling down his face as he couldn't help the joyful smile.

"This is far more than enough," he muttered.

_This… this is __**family**_.

They all stood there for a while, and then let go. Fleur seemed to have teared up a little more from seeing her fiancé's reaction to the embrace. Harry then looked out over the gathering. Dumbledore nodded slowly with a small smile and a glint in his eye. Sirius and Remus just smiled at him.

"I think… I'll take you up on your advice, Headmaster," Harry said timidly. "Maybe some time with… _family_, would do me good."

Harry then looked at every face gathered there, in the small, semi–dark basement, and without his knowledge, his eyes lit up, but instead of being a pasty, pale yellow, they were bright and golden.

_I thought my family was dead. I was wrong. __**This**__ is my family_.

The gathering all sat back down at the table, Harry sitting between Fleur and Molly, and feeling a sensation of… completion, which he had never felt before. Apparently, Harry responded so quickly that Arthur had been sent to St Mungo's, and was expected to make a full recovery within a few months. Apparently, Harry had been dead for a little over sixteen hours, and the healers there had quickly been able to neutralise the worst effects of the venom, as a sample of it had yet to be absorbed into the bloodstream. They had analysed it and found that it was curable, though it would take a long while. Arthur would not be at risk of permanent injury. All thanks to Harry's quick initiative and response, he would just barely be back in time for Christmas, though he would have to take blood–replenishing potions every hour or so, as the wounds wouldn't properly close. But at least they would all be able to share a lovely Christmas dinner together.

Like a _real_ family.


	5. Chapter 5

A Piece of Joy

Harry sat with the inhabitants of 12 Grimmauld Place, including Fleur, her family, Remus and Tonks, in the kitchen during the Christmas feast Molly had whipped up. Harry was sitting between Fleur and Remus, and laughter, joy, and cheers resounded throughout the room. Harry smiled like he never had before, being surrounded by the people he loved. Harry laughed at jokes the twins made, and at the faces Tonks made using her inherent ability to warp and morph her physical features, making pig snouts, duck beaks and long, hooked noses and ears. Fleur laughed along with him, and the two had a glow about them that had only been seen before the third task. While the most they did was give each other small kisses on the lips or cheeks, the long stares and the adoration in their eyes made no one around them doubt that they truly loved each other. Soon, Molly wheeled in Arthur, who was excitedly and gleefully sitting in a wheelchair. Harry had pulled some strings in a hospital where Meerlinda had a ghoul to get a hold of it to cheer the muggle–happy man up, but harry would never have expected the Weasley patriarch to be _so_ excited by it.

"GOOD MORNING, WEASLEYS!" he called out loudly with a bright smile, like he usually did when he got home early in the morning from work. "AND OTHERS!"

"GOOD MORNING!" the room called back with laughter and applause.

"Harry, this thing is absolutely wonderful!" Arthur shouted at the boy. "How did you get it!?"

"I know people," Harry said with a slightly coy smile. "And hospitals. You can keep it."

"Magnificent!" Arthur broke out, making some of the Weasley children groan, but made 'others' laugh at the grown man's joy at getting to keep the muggle 'artefact'.

"Why, Harry?" Fred whined quietly from across the table. "He'll never shut up about it."

"Why'd you think I got it?" Harry said as quietly with a delightfully mischievous smirk and wink, making Remus, Sirius, Fleur and Apolline chuckle.

"Now, everyone!" Arthur called out and raised a glass of wine. "I would like to propose a toast!"

Everyone stood and raised their glasses.

"Were it not for the kind, wonderful, thoughtful, and brave, brave young man standing over there," he used his glass to gesture at Harry, "I wouldn't be here today. But his wit, strength, and will, saved my life, and brought us all together this evening. To Harry!" he shouted.

"To Harry!" the toast resounded in the room, and for the first time he could remember in a long, long time, he was actually flustered, and blushed.

"No," Harry said before anyone took a drink of their glass, and they all looked at him as he looked around, finally landing on Arthur. He then raised his glass a little higher and smiled warmly. "To family."

Everyone looked at him with the same kind of smile, even Sebastien.

"To family!"

With that, they all drank, and then sat down to begin the feast. Everyone was in a good mood that night, relishing that even in these dark, dark times drenched in blood and terror, they at least had each other.

•••

Harry woke up to Fleur cuddled up to him, the greatest he had felt in a long time. They were lying together naked, yet neither had felt the need to make love. He supposed that was what true love was; being able to be completely and totally intimate without sexual intercourse. He absentmindedly caressed her head and closed his eyes again, wanting nothing but to stay in bed with her all day and do absolutely nothing but cuddle. She soon woke up, and she groggily looked around with unfocused eyes. Harry chuckled lightly, and that made her look at his face, and a bright, happy smile broke out on her face at seeing it. She closed the distance between them, and they slowly and lovingly kissed each other.

"I love you," Fleur whispered.

"I love you too," Harry returned with a smile before he captured her lips again.

They heard footsteps approaching the door to the room they slept in, and Harry snapped his fingers. A pair of boxer briefs, panties and a bra appeared in his hand. He handed Fleur her underwear as he started putting on his own under the duvet.

"You left some clothes in the chantry," Harry explained at her slightly surprised expression.

Fleur made the characteristic 'aaahhh' face of realisation and quickly put them on. Just as they finished, their door burst open and Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, burst in, wearing a white summer dress, as the inside of the house had warmed up quite a bit since Sirius had hired people to restore it. It was now somewhat clean, and almost entirely intact.

"There's presents!" she shouted excitedly in French.

She was indeed holding a present in each hand, and she quickly jumped on the bed, making Fleur lose her breath, but Harry remained fine. He gently rubbed Fleur's shoulder with a small smile, and the couple accepted their gifts. They were rather small, clearly jewellery of some kind.

"I picked them myself!"

"Is that so?" Harry said with a small, coy smile and looked at her as he opened the small box. He then looked down.

Inside the box was a necklace in silver, specifically enchanted to be harmless to werewolves, Sebastien had added as he and Apolline walked in after their youngest. A pendant hung from it; it was a small wolf's head engraved in a flattened piece of silver, about the diameter of a Sickle, with only one eye, which was a brightly shining ruby interred in the material. He smiled and put it on, and it dangled right above his sternum, a few inches below his collarbone.

"I love it!" he roared and swiftly grabbed the little girl under her arms and lifted her up before he got out of bed and swung her around the room, making the Delacours laugh. He then held her close and planted a large, wet kiss on her cheek. "Wolves tend to drool a lot, you know!"

Gabrielle giggled excitedly through it all, and blushed heavily when he kissed her on the cheek. Harry looked over at Fleur who held up a nigh–identical pendant, though this time, the other eye was missing. She smiled.

"You complete each other!" Gabrielle exclaimed happily.

Fleur got out of bed and walked over to her sister before she knelt down before her and held her in a tight hug.

"It's beautiful," she said calmly. "Thank you."

She put hers on as well, and then took Harry's hand, smiling all the while. Harry smiled back, and then looked at the Delacours.

"I haven't really made the time to shop for presents," Harry said, but then he snapped his fingers, and a few pieces of paper appeared out of thin air. "But I have thought of something for a while. No doubt you earn well, but I doubt you earn well enough to be set for life if you stopped now." Sebastien and Apolline were about to say something, but he raised his hand. "So… I was looking for something that might be suitable to raise a family in. And I found something that would be perfect, even for just two people. So, here." He handed Sebastien the documents. "It's a cottage in southern France, along the sea. There's a private forest, beach, outhouse, you name it. It's been rather recently renovated, so it holds heat well when it gets a little colder, and there's Air Condition for when it becomes too warm. There's a small pool, jacuzzi, lounging, and some other things to pass the time, as well as a fireplace I've ensured will be connected to the Floo network in France and Great Britain. It might take a little getting used to, but I've set it up for all expenses in electricity, gas, heat and all that to be paid for from my personal vault in Gringotts for the next fifty years if I don't renew the contract. Consider it a dowry if you will, but a comfortable retirement, if you want it, is insured."

Sebastien and Apolline looked at Harry with wide eyes, and then their eyes went back to the papers, containing pictures and descriptions of the property, floorplans, etc. Fleur looked at Harry with a surprised look as well. Harry smiled at her and squeezed her hand. He then released it and went over to Gabrielle. He knelt down before her and held his hands out. A small vial and a thin leather string appeared in them. Harry opened the vial and then pressed the tip of his index finger onto one of his vampire fangs. He drew blood and let it drip into the vial. When it was full, he sealed it with a small cork and tied the leather string around it, before he tied the string's ends together, and draped the makeshift necklace around her neck.

"If you're ever in trouble, real bad trouble, and you can't find your way out, drink this," he said and smiled, "and I'll be there to get you out of it before you can say 'help'."

Gabrielle blushed and muttered 'thanks', earning her a small caress on her cheek and a smile. He then stood back up and snapped his fingers, at which a fresh set of clothes appeared in his hand. He got dressed, as did Fleur, and the couple followed the Delacours downstairs into the kitchen. Harry was shocked to see a heap of presents going along the table. Ron was sitting and admiring some brand new Quidditch gear, and then looked up at Harry.

"But, Harry… I'm not even on the team," he said aghast. "And this… this must have cost a small fortune!"

"What?" Harry asked, confused, before Remus came up and leant close.

"Sirius and I may have taken a few liberties with your vault on your behalf," he whispered with a small smile. "What with your absence and all."

"Thanks," Harry whispered back at the other werewolf and clapped him on the shoulder. "By the way," he snapped his fingers, and a large, old tome appeared in his hand, which he handed to Remus, "I found this in my mistress' library a few years ago. Don't tell her."

Remus flipped it open with a slightly suspicious glance at him, which soon turned to a bright smile. It was a history in the werewolves Harry and Remus had been turned into, a species called 'Garou'. It detailed their habits, traits, weaknesses, and different tribes and powers.

"I won't," the older wolf nodded and took his honourable nephew in a one–armed hug, owing to the quite massive book held by the other.

"I'm hoping that you'll try out for the team, Ron," Harry said after the quiet exchange, and spotted a long, thin package with a thick and round end. He walked over to it, and it was from Sirius to Harry. Harry looked at the older man and slightly shook his head, who seemed a little down, but when Harry discreetly threw his head in the direction of Ron, his godfather nodded in approval. "But for that, you might need this," he said and subtly pulled the tag off before he handed it to him. Ron's eyes widened immensely as he carefully accepted the package with wide eyes and shaking hands. "Go on," Harry said with a smile.

Ron slowly and carefully unwrapped the package, and inside lay a broomstick; long and sleek, with a dark shaft and dark bristles, and silver footrests.

"Harry, this is… this is a Firebolt," Ron said, and several people looked at the species–queer young man. "It's the fastest and most expensive broom on the market."

"Guess you should get used to it quickly, then," Harry said with a smile and a wink.

Ron sat back in his chair and stared at the broom and Quidditch gear with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open.

"Merry Christmas," Harry added with a chuckle.

He then moved over and sat beside Remus and Sirius, with Fleur sitting down beside him.

"Thanks, guys," he said quietly.

"Don't mention it," Sirius said. "You've done more for the Order than anyone ever has. I can't say your methods make any of us happy, but… I suppose things like that are necessary in a war of attrition, and you're the only person who can do it."

"No one should have to go through that," Remus nodded. "But you did. And you may just have saved thousands of innocent lives by doing it." He then looked Harry directly in the eyes. "Never forget that you're not just taking lives. You take a few to save many. Always remember that."

"I will," Harry nodded, a little downcast, but smiling nonetheless. "How are things going on your end?"

"Everyone talks, and no one does anything," Sirius said, "just like usual. Snivellus' the only one who actively does something. He reports Voldemort's plans and goings on to us, and we bicker whether he can be trusted or not."

"Trust him," Harry said. Sirius and Remus both raised a questioning brow at the comment. "I know why he's doing it. And while I can't really say that it doesn't repel me a little, it does make me trust him, with my life. You can trust him, too."

"What is his reason?" Sirius asked.

"That's his story to tell," Harry shook his head. "So, what _is_ the latest word from Voldemort's inner circle?"

"They've been approached by a vampire who has a disturbing amount of information," Sirius said. "Calls himself 'Coven'."

Harry stiffened.

"Says you double–crossed him by faking your death?" Remus elaborated with a questioning tone.

"We're fucked," Harry muttered and placed his face in his hands, supported by his elbows on the table. "We are _so_ fucked."

"Who is he, Harry?" Fleur asked.

"To most Kind– er, vampires, he's a Jamaican vampire turned in the 60's. To those who actually know, he's the spirit of an ancient and _very_ powerful vampire called Mithras. Mithras let himself be diablerised by Montgomery Coven. When one vampire diablerises another, they drink all their blood, and then they drink their very soul with the last drop. If the diablerising vampire's will is weaker than the victim, the victim can take over the attacker's body. In either case, if the victim was of stronger, more potent blood than the attacker, the attacker's blood will become thicker, stronger. Mithras has taken over Coven's body, which means that a vampire about three thousand years old in a roughly forty–year–old vampire's body is gunning for me. No matter his body, however, he is _not_ to be underestimated or trifled with. He's a master in gathering intelligence and manipulating people. No doubt he's going to manipulate Voldemort."

"I don't think that's possible," Sirius grinned darkly.

"Voldemort is – what? – sixty? Seventy? Mithras is three thousand. He has literally had millennia to hone his skills and talents, whereas Tom has had less than a century. There is no comparison; if Mithras wants Tom to dance for him, Tom will dance till he drops dead. He doesn't even need his vampiric powers to do so, either. There are several things that can destroy or take control of the entirety of Britain; the only one of them that scares me is Mithras."

Harry seemed to involuntarily shiver as he finished the statement, lending credence to it. Fleur took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Harry smiled at her and squeezed it back. The rest of the day was spent lazing about, and Harry watching the excited reactions his gifts, purchased by Sirius and Remus, elicited out of the others present. Hermione received a set of books on advanced magic, still appropriate for school, and a kit with a fine quill and a verity of different inks, as well as high–quality parchment with elegant shapes in watermarks. Ginny received some Quidditch gear and a good broom as well, eliciting much the same reaction as Ron, and surprised stares from her family. Only Sirius had known that Ginny secretly loved flying and wanted to play Quidditch as well. Fred and George had received some ledgers and inventory lists to make it easier to organise everything with their shop, as well as a box of plenty of rare and exotic ingredients to try in their candies.

He himself received quite a few gifts, as well. Ron gave him a framed picture of the Weasley family standing in front of the Burrow. Hermione gave him a calendar with a few magical features so that he could plan things in advance, and yet he didn't have the heart to tell her that he would most likely never use it; don't leave physical evidence. Ginny gave him a cologne with a note telling him that it would drive Fleur crazy for him if he wore it to bed, making him snort his coffee. That elicited a few laughs as he stared at Ginny, coffee all over the lower half of his face, eyes wide and his brows raised. She just winked at him with a knowing smirk. Fleur seemed confused, and when she tried reading the note, Harry quickly crumpled it before it incinerated and turned to ash in his palm. She looked suspiciously between Ginny and Harry after that, and Ginny gave Fleur the same expression. Fred and George gave him a box of premium wares from their inventory list; they had started their business as a mail–order service, since they were still at Hogwarts, and after they had sat and walked Harry through every item in the box, Harry smiled and made a mental note to invest more in their firm. Sirius and Remus gave him a set of books on advanced dark magic and how to counter it. The last gift he received in the kitchen made his heart swell; a raven black Weasley jumper with the letter 'H' in bright yellow on the front. He had proudly worn it for the rest of the day, making Mrs Weasley beam with joy.

When it was time to turn in for the night, Fleur pulled him into the bedroom they shared. She pulled him close, and he smiled as they fell into a heated make–out session against the wall. Before either had noticed it, and without really wanting to, they had started disrobing each other. Harry stopped what he was doing when he realised what happening, and that they were both almost naked, and noticing his discontinued ministrations, Fleur's mouth released his throat.

"What is it?" she breathed heavily, her face and throat flushed, and her eyes glazed over with passion and desire.

Harry was panting himself, not from exertion, but from the heat of the moment. He looked into her eyes for a while, but then pressed his lips against hers again, their bodies grinding against one another, and soon, right after Harry managed with a stray thought to cast privacy charms on the room, the moaning, groaning, and even screams began.

_If she can put __**it**__ out of her mind for now… so can I._

•••

Harry rolled off of his love, panting heavily as he landed on his back. Fleur pulled the sheets up and covered her sweaty and lightly quivering body. Harry used a part of the sheet to cover his manhood and thighs, and she rolled on her side, placing her arm and head on his rising and falling chest. Her slightly shaking hand started tracing scars on his body.

"How did you get this?" she asked, speaking French to him for the first time in a long while.

She was tracing four very thin scratch marks.

"A wolf," Harry said. "An ordinary one, in Canada. When I was six."

"And this?" she touched a bite mark on his side.

"A bear, in Alaska. A few weeks later, actually."

She then touched a round, yet large mark in his shoulder.

"A werewolf hunter, in London. High–powered rifle, and he used silver bullets. It was the first month after I first received my werewolf powers, and I was looking for a werewolf to teach me. I was careless, then. Arrogant. I tried hunting him down and butchering him." Fleur raised her head and looked him in the eyes. "He gave me this," he took her hand and guided it to a long, thin wound above his belly button, as if someone had tried gutting him, "when I cornered him. Haven't seen him since."

Fleur absentmindedly placed her hand on her own abdomen, clearly remembering what had once been growing inside her. Her eyes darkened for but a moment, and then she looked at him.

"We can try again," she whispered. "We were unlucky."

Harry smiled lightly and leant down. Their lips touched chastely for a few moments, before he released her.

"We can."

They then just lay in bed, and sleep came quickly to Fleur, as Harry could hear her heartbeat slow down, and her breathing stabilised and became shallow.

But whenever Harry closed his eyes to try and sleep, he saw the Slytherin boys kicking and stomping her, he saw them spread her legs apart, and he saw one of them getting ready to have his twisted way. When he finally did fall asleep, his nightmares were of Fleur, lying broken, beaten and bloodied on the floor as the Slytherin boys took turns with her. He was restrained by silver chains and had silver pikes shoved through his arms, legs, and abdomen, stuck to the wall, and was helpless to do anything. The writhing, five–month foetus was laid on the ground before him and was screaming the screams of a baby in need of help, a baby in pain. He roared and howled, but the amount of silver prevented him from shifting or regenerating, much less call upon his unholy strength. All he could do was scream.

_**I will have your fucking guts for breakfast!**_

_**I will bathe in the blood of your family!**_

_**I will hunt down and violate your mothers and sisters before I butcher them!**_

Harry woke up several times throughout the night, the horrible vision too much for him. Around three in the morning, he woke up for the last time, and it was then that the nightmares had become far too terrible. He laid in bed, thrashing and whining in his sleep. Fleur was awoken by it, and when she saw what he was doing, she started shaking him.

"Harry! HARRY!"

His eyes opened and he sat up with a scream.

"FLEUR!"

He was panting and sweating, and his shoulders started shaking. He roughly took hold of her wrists as her arms still laid on his chest and shoulder. He stared into her eyes, his own panicked and wide, not to mention red from the tears staining his face. His lower lips started quivering, and he pulled Fleur into a tight embrace, one she returned just as passionately.

"I'm here, sweetheart," she whispered in his ear. "I'm here, I'm fine."

She gently rocked him as he started sobbing, and he possessively caressed her hair and shoulders. She could do nothing but let him. She supported him with all her being in this time of desperate need. Soon, footsteps were thundering towards the room, as the privacy charms had long since faded. Harry swiftly pulled up the sheets over Fleur's chest and released her. Just as her modesty was covered, the door slammed open, and Sirius and Remus barged in with glowing wands drawn and panicked expressions. They saw the state Harry was in as he sat, his nether regions covered, but covered in sweat, slightly quivering, and his eyes red and swollen.

"What is it?" Sirius asked and put his wand away as he rushed over and knelt beside Harry. He put a hand to his godson's cheek and the other on his shoulder. His dark eyes were pools of concern.

"Nightmares," Harry croaked hoarsely. "Just nightmares."

He then covered his face with his hands and rubbed it. He took a few calming breaths through them.

"I've had them for months," he elaborated as he removed his hands, laid them in his lap, and looked at them. "It's PTSD. Post–Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's a… a lapse, or loop, in your head, making you relive and relive and relive and relive the… trauma, over and over and over again. Anything that reminds you of it triggers the lapse, anytime you sleep, and your dreams move towards it, you lapse…" Harry quieted to regain his breath. "And I deserve it for everything I've done, but not for _that_."

His shoulders' shaking intensified again, and he was about to start crying again, but he calmed down when Fleur took his hands and leant her head on his other shoulder. Sirius removed his hands, and Harry pulled the woman close and held her tight. Remus and Sirius both quietly left the room to give the lovers space. Harry and Fleur laid back down, and this time, Harry rested on Fleur's chest, and she was stroking his hair and his shoulders. He held her tightly pressed against him, and he slept like a rock for the rest of the night, feeling safe in the embrace of the love of his life.

•••

Harry and Fleur were both showered and dressed when they entered the kitchen the following evening. An Order meeting was being held, where Harry was expected to report his activities. They passed the Weasley children and Hermione on the way down. They were all a little sour that Harry got to participate in the meeting when he was only their age, in terms of calendar years. But then again, he was special. The engaged couple entered the kitchen to find that the majority of people were already there. Arthur, Molly, Bill and Charlie Weasley, Remus and Sirius, Severus, Minerva and Albus, Moody, Tonks and Shacklebolt, and Cedric, among others. Harry and Fleur walked to the far end of the table, opposite Dumbledore, and sat down. While there were no formal ranks in the Order, Harry was, after Dumbledore, the highest ranking member. Once everyone was seated, Fleur was sitting at Harry's right hand, and Sirius was sitting at his left. Dumbledore then stood up and took the first word.

"Friends, a lot has happened in these past six months' time. As you all may have read in the Daily Prophet, Harry and Fleur have suffered a tragic loss," almost everyone at the table bowed their head for a little in respect. "Harry has also continued his own campaign to destroy Voldemort's forces. I must admit that I am saddened by the orphaning of Theodore Nott and Edward Avery, due to the annihilation of the two families. I suppose that was your doing?" the old mentor asked as he looked at Harry, and everyone turned their head to look at the boy as well.

Harry's face was set in emotionless stone as he nodded.

"That is too far, Dumbledore," a woman piped up, and Harry recognised her as Emmeline Vance. "We do not murder people in cold blood."

"But I do," Harry said calmly. "I said from the very beginning that I did not seek to change your methods, and that I hoped you would not seek to change mine. You do not win a war by defending. You win it by overwhelming."

"Your parents would be abhorred," she said with slight disgust.

"Most likely," Harry shrugged coldly.

"Whilst I do not agree with Harry's targets and methods, I know that such is the quickest and least harmful way to end a war. Harry may have saved many, many lives by attacking them with deadly force before they could attack anyone else. Remus, you have something to tell us. The werewolves?"

Remus stood up.

"A little over a week ago, I went to visit a large camp of werewolves, in a forest in Ireland. When I arrived, the camp had been burned to the ground, and there were well over a hundred charred corpses present, of men, women, and children."

Gasps ensued, and their eyes went to Harry.

"Among them was Fenrir Greyback, his head having been ripped clean off his body. This leads me to believe that the werewolves had agreed to join Voldemort's forces."

Remus sat down, and he looked a little sorrowfully at Harry.

"That was your doing as well, wasn't it?"

Harry simply nodded.

"Why the women and children?" Remus asked sadly.

"An example to any group of half–beings that would join Voldemort; they have much more to fear from me," he said coldly, though Fleur had come to know him so well, that only she noticed the look of guilt in his eyes. "Greyback was just payback for all the children he's bit."

Expressions of sadness roamed the table, though the Aurors and Hogwarts professors revealed far less. Moody was as grim as always.

"A scare tactic," Moody grumbled. "Put one village to the stake, save five more?"

"Exactly," Harry said.

"The Veela Nation is behind you," Fleur said and took his hand. "My mother has been in touch with them. We aren't much of a fighting force, but we have traditionally been good healers, and we do have a few exceptional duellists."

"Thank you," he muttered with a smile as she leant in and kissed his cheek.

"You have the full support of the Ancient and Noble House of Black," Sirius said with a small, grave nod.

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry returned the gesture.

The meeting went on for some time, discussing unimportant nothings, and Harry spent most of the time just holding Fleur's hand and staring at her, even though she attentively followed the meeting's course. She did cast him glances, and she lightly smiled and blushed when she caught him staring at her with a small smile. It was about half an hour of almost no importance. When the meeting was over, he dragged Fleur outside the house, and they went for a walk. They didn't say much until they reached a bench in a small park, and they sat down.

"There's something I need to tell you," Harry said quietly, his arm draped around her shoulders and her head resting against his shoulder and cheek.

"What?"

"I've become immortal."

She raised her head and looked at him with a weird expression.

"I did die from the venom of Voldemort's snake," he admitted, "and I did die in the graveyard." He then pulled up his right sleeve, and Fleur saw the brand–like mark on the underside of his forearm. "This is the Mark of Cain. As long as I have it, I will never grow old, and whenever I die, I will resurrect some hours later. You needn't worry about me anymore."

Fleur looked into his eyes, and then smiled before she planted her lips on his.

"You have no idea just how happy I am right now," she muttered and kissed him again.

"I'm happy as well, but until James, the one who gave it to me, finds a way to remove it, it also means that I will outlive you. He's working on removing it so that I can die again when Voldemort is gone."

The couple sat on the bench and passionately expressed their love for one another for almost three hours.

Getting Back To Work

Days turned into weeks, and weeks became months. Harry slowly picked off Death Eater families one by one, and after almost a full year, Harry had gotten rid of almost all of Voldemort's forces. Voldemort himself had not been heard from or seen, however, and Harry had yet to find and destroy the last horcrux; the locket of Salazar Slytherin. He had gone to a cave with well over a hundred inferi to protect it, but the locket turned out to be a fake placed by Regulus Arcturus Black, Sirius' younger brother. Sirius read the note inside the locket, and he came to mourn his brother who had turned himself around, only to be killed by Voldemort. While he didn't cry, and he didn't shed tears, he did visit his brother's grave by himself. There had been a potion in the cave, but Harry had spent a good deal of energy breaking through the curse keeping him from just sticking his hand in and taking it. When he tried to leave, the inferi did manage to pull him under the water and drown him, but he woke up a few hours later, and the inferi didn't attack him, seeing as they had already killed him. He neglected to mention that part when he told Fleur what had happened.

Which lead Harry to sit in one of the rooms of Grimmauld Place, reading a book on dark magic. He and Fleur had settled in with Sirius, and Fleur had quite swiftly regained her former self, as had Harry. The occurrence of nightmares had lessened drastically since he began sleeping with Fleur in his arms again, as well. Harry spent a good deal of time teaching Fleur about his own magics, as well as about vampires and werewolves, at least what he knew of the latter; he had explained to her that while he was technically one, werewolves with powerful instincts could usually sense the vampire in him, and shunned him. He had also explained the Mark in detail, as well as his past. His childhood, his tutelage under various experts, all the good stuff. He and Fleur also began exercising together, as she could use the exercise, and Harry would use any excuse to stay near her. She was getting into good shape, and she taught Harry how to duel like a wizard. If there was anything the battle in the graveyard had taught him, it was that when it came to wizarding abilities, Voldemort was on a whole other level compared to himself. Harry knew the jinxes, hexes and curses, he knew how to counter, deflect and parry, but when it came to actually duelling, he was slow in figuring out which spells he should use, and was slow to recognise the spells flung at him. While he was extremely good at dodging, it was all he did in his first duels with Fleur and Sirius, until they started laughing at how he was just dancing around like a ballerina (Sirius' words).

Harry and Fleur's moods had drastically improved, and they were looking forward to moving to Paris by themselves after the war was over. Harry had already bought a rather large apartment, two whole stories, with more than enough space for a couple and several children, and even some guests. Now, they just had to win the damned war.

It was a quiet ringing noise that brought Harry out of the book he was reading, and he looked up. The noise was faint, quiet. He lowered the book to his lap, and looked around with a frown. The ringing didn't stop, nor did it grow stronger. It just kept ringing. He put the book on a nearby table and stood. He then moved out of the room, and the ringing grew a little stronger. The ringing drew him down two flights of stairs, and into a room, where the ringing grew quite strong. He went over to a cupboard and looked inside. There, right there, lay a locket identical to the one found in the crystal cave, and Harry smirked. He reached out and picked it up, and it felt strange… warm… and it felt like it was pulsating… like it had a heart. Harry pocketed it and walked downstairs into the kitchen. He nodded at Sirius and Fleur, and walked over to the fireplace. He took some Floo powder and smiled at them.

"See you later. Headmaster's office!"

He disappeared in green flames, and Sirius and Fleur went back to their discussion over breakfast.

Harry stepped out of the fire and into Dumbledore's office. The old man had somehow established a closed Floo connection between his office and Grimmauld Place. Harry saw Dumbledore sitting at his desk, pouring over paperwork. The old mentor then looked up, and smiled at the boy.

"Ah, Harry. Good news, I hope?"

Harry pulled the locket out of his pocket and held it by the chain. It dangled in the air, and Dumbledore smiled faintly.

"The last one," he muttered, and then went to the Sword's case. "Finally."

He brought the Sword to Harry, and Harry took it in his right hand. He then threw the horcrux into the air, took a stance, and when it was just at the right spot, Harry swung the blade and cleft the locket in two, releasing the dark smoke and howls trapped inside. Finally, Voldemort could be killed. It was almost over. Harry started chuckling in elation, which soon turned to laughter.

"What is so funny?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.

"It's almost over," Harry said. "Soon, I can go to France with Fleur. Maybe we could go to Italy first," he started getting excited. "Or we could go to Hungary. Maybe Greece. I could take her anywhere. Maybe Bruges would be nice."

"I am truly happy for the both of you, Harry," Dumbledore said and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You finally get to have peace."

"Yeah," Harry said and looked out the window with hope in his eyes for the first time since he could remember. "I do."

The mentor and student stood like that and looked out at the blue noon sky. Things were finally becoming bright once again.

"How did you find the horcrux?" Dumbledore asked.

The headmaster did not like the frown that emerged on Harry's face.

"I heard it," he muttered.

Silence.

"You heard it?"

"I heard it."

The pair looked at each other, and then Harry swallowed and pulled up his right sleeve, and looked at the Mark. If _he_ couldn't _really_ die… then neither should the horcrux within him be able to.

"Oh no," Harry said. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked with concern.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," Harry turned back and placed his hands on his head. "No, no, no, no, FUCK!"

"Harry, wha–"

"I can't die!" he exclaimed. "What's to say that the horcrux within me can't, either!?"

Dumbledore's face turned as pale as a sheet.

"No, no, no, no," Harry muttered, his good mood dying down very quickly at the realization. It was so ironic, he could almost cry. "I need to go."

Harry then rushed back into the fireplace and disappeared.

•••

"JAMES!" Harry called out as he barged back into the chantry for the first time in months. "JAMES!"

"What!?" the annoyed James said as he came out of the library.

"You need to undo the Mark, quickly!" Harry said with panic in his voice.

"I'm working on it!" James retorted.

"If I can't die, then Voldemort's horcrux inside me can't, either!" Harry shouted, his face the very image of anxiety. "As long as I have the Mark, I can't kill Voldemort!"

James' annoyed expression fell immediately, and gave way to shock and apprehension.

"I forgive you for putting it on me, but I need you to undo it as soon as absolutely possible," Harry rushed over to him and entered the library. "I'll help you."

James nodded, throwing away any annoyance he held with the boy, and they immediately went to work.

•••

Harry told Fleur of what was happening, and she understood his predicament. He stayed in the chantry whilst she remained at Grimmauld Place. He would sleep with her every other night, which was more like every week to him as he remained in the chantry. It would be easier that way, as Harry could work with James and Meerlinda for hours, and it would only be seconds for her.

The progress was slow, but it happened.

•••

Half a year after Harry had left for the chantry, news of dark creatures attacking wizards and Muggles reached the papers. Dumbledore knew what that meant; Voldemort was returning.

Harry occasionally went to sites where there were reported incidents and investigated, and reported all his findings to the old man.

Fleur started communicating with the French Ministry through her father's position in the government, and had ensured that not only were British refugees welcome, but Voldemort supporters were being jailed. Several new legislations against the Dark Lord's interests were being passed, as the British Ministry was slowly but surely falling into a state of disarray.

Fudge was replaced as Minister by a Pius Thicknesse, a lackey of Voldemort through the Imperious curse, most likely. Bigotry against Muggles and Muggleborns was slowly becoming a part of the legislations, and Muggleborns were less and less common among the wizard population in Britain as they fled to France.

Things were rushing by, and Harry's group was struggling to keep up with Voldemort's unanticipated efficiency in taking over the British wizarding population. None of them had been aware of any plans he might be concocting, and it was a race to rid Harry of the Mark of Cain so that he could die, and Voldemort could be defeated.

Harry, however, kept his dilemma a secret, and he had made Dumbledore do the same. He didn't want Fleur to start wavering in her convictions. She was quickly coming into her role as the Order's ambassador to the French Ministry. If she knew that Harry had to actually, really die to secure Voldemort's defeat, Harry was certain that she would crumble.

Thicknesse pardoned several Death Eaters from Azkaban, and even Dolores Umbridge. Magical Britain was quickly turning into another Holocaust. Even Hogwarts was not totally immune to change. Fewer and fewer Muggleborns returned there, and Dumbledore was tied up in trying to keep Death Eaters out of the staff, but the Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage, disappeared, and as always, the DADA professor left for unknown reasons. Dumbledore was forced by the Ministry to take Alecto Carrow as the Muggle Studies professor. The subject was made compulsory, and instead of teaching students accurate facts about the non-magical community and encouraging understanding and tolerance, Carrow taught that Muggles were "like animals, stupid and dirty" and that they "drove wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them," and "how the natural order is being restored." It was clearly an attempt to brainwash Wizarding children into hating the Muggle world, and into joining Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but Dumbledore had little power to change it.

Her brother, Amycus Carrow, was appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, and changed the subject to just Dark Arts. The seventh years learned how to cast the Cruciatus Curse and how to conjure Fiendfyre and cast other Unforgivable Curses. The Carrow siblings had tried enforcing using the Cruciatus curse on students who received detention, but Dumbledore had reacted like no one had ever seen him before. His face was contorted in anger as he rained down on the Carrows, throwing fire and ice, and conjuring swords and hailstorms of glass. Never had anyone seen him so angry as when the Carrows had first tried introducing that kind of detention, and they were left near–death after the ordeal. It was then that people were reminded that Dumbledore was growing old, yes, but there was a reason he was hailed as the greatest wizard of the century. His display of power had been like watching an angel descend from heaven and smite demons with the wrath of God. However, the exertion also had it's toll, and Dumbledore was forced into hiding to regain his health. He fled to the London chantry, and while recovering, he guided Harry and taught him magical arts.

Word had quickly spread amongst the students, and Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville had formed a secret student group dedicated to teaching how to defend against the Dark Arts, like their class had once done. Harry would occasionally sneak into the school and teach a glass at their request, and hope spread throughout Hogwarts that Harry was alive and was fighting Voldemort from the shadows. The group, consisting of well over 40 students, even Slytherins like Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini among them. Harry had pulled Theodore aside after the first lesson, and the young boy had been afraid that the last remaining Potter would kill him, finish what he started. But Harry had placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and apologised for killing his family, and said that while he understood it if Theodore would hate him for the rest of his life, Harry would do his best to teach Theodore as he had that evening, and wouldn't harm him. From then on, the Order of the Phoenix had a foothold in the school, as Harry would occasionally have Remus or Sirius or Mad–Eye take his place as the teacher for an evening while he continued his own project. Even Shacklebolt came in and helped, and the small group, naming themselves 'Dumbledore's Army' (Dumbledore had smiled when Harry had told the old man of the group), began striking at the Carrows from the shadows like Harry taught them. They were quickly developing, and after almost a year's time, Harry would have no qualms calling them a legitimate paramilitary force. A guerrilla group.

Older Order members were also being targeted by Voldemort's new regime, and several of them were found dead in various places. The seventh years who had finished their time at Hogwarts after having been part of the DA quickly joined the Order of the Phoenix, and things then took off far more quickly. Harry likened the political and martial circumstances of Britain to speed–chess. Both the Death Eaters and Order of the Phoenix grew larger and larger, and soon, there were open conflicts in the streets. Muggle newspapers and radios reported on lightshows in places where dead bodies were found, and duels erupted in Diagon Alley.

However, people also needed a place to go, as many wizarding homes where someone was known to support Dumbledore were raided by the Ministry, and the inhabitants were thrown in Azkaban on trumped–up charges. Harry opened the chantry to refugee fighters, and then their families went to France with Fleur's help. Harry soon found himself leading the fighters into skirmishes with Death Eaters, and their puppets in the Ministry. News of his survival became solid, and reached far and wide.

On another note, the Kindred of London were in an uproar. They were being dragged into the conflict, as Death Eaters started attacking their food, the Muggles, and the Vampires of London, spearheaded by Dee, finally decided to join Harry's side. Vampire attacks on Death Eaters and their families became more and more common, and Death Eaters had begun committing suicide for unknown reasons. Harry knew that they were dominated by the far more powerful dominators among the vampires to do so, as were their families.

It was bloody chaos, and Harry started doubting if he could really do this.

•••

Harry looked at his right arm, his eyes wide in wonder as the Mark of Cain slowly disappeared from it. It faded and faded, until it was no more. Harry and James looked at each other with wide eyes.

They had finally done it.

Harry sat back in his chair with a deep sigh. Now, there was only one thing left to do. He needed to make sure that the horcrux in him was destroyed, but he had to make sure Voldemort was killed as well. That only left one option, one which made him frown and his face contort in sadness:

The Divine Wind.

Kamikaze.

**A suicide attack**.

"So, this is it, then?" James said quietly.

"I guess it is," Harry said, somehow not really being able to comprehend that he had to die to end everything. "Now I just need to draw Tom out. I can only think of one way to do that."

"Call him out to get you at Hogwarts," James said.

"Yes. I just don't want to be the reason for the destruction of the school, or the death of its students."

"I get it," James nodded. "When?"

Harry looked at his watch, and then at the calendar close by. It was December 29th.

"Two days," Harry said. "That's Tom's birthday. I'll face him in Hogwarts' courtyard at midnight."

James nodded silently. They sat like that for minutes, completely silent.

"For what it's worth, at this point," Harry said, "I'm glad I got to know you."

"Likewise," James smiled lightly at Harry.

Harry's eyes then widened, and he then started smiling. Wickedly.

"I've got an idea."

James smiled a little brighter.

_Like a dying McGyver._

"Tell me what you need."

•••

Fleur, the rest of the Order, and Dumbledore's Army were all gathered in front of the Entrance Hall to Hogwarts. They were waiting anxiously, wands ready, for what approached them. A tall man in black, flowing robes, his skin as white as snow, and his eyes red and with feline pupils walked in front of a small army of black–clad wizards and witches. They were marching down the long bridge connection the courtyard to the land on the other side, moving almost as one. People at the doors were swallowing audibly, sweating, and their breathing picked up, but Fleur found herself to be completely calm. Especially as she felt the crowd part behind her, and a man came up to her side and took her hand. She looked to her right, and saw Harry smiling brightly at her.

"One more day," he said. "One day, and it's all over."

Harry reluctantly let go of her hand, and walked a few steps forward before he turned around.

"I am proud," he yelled out, "of every single person here! You have each decided that the safety and happiness of Britain's magical populace, and the lives of the Muggles, are more important than yourselves! You are here because you are willing to lay down your lives for the cause you believe in! I will not fault anyone for backing down and leaving! Fear is a powerful emotion, one that I cannot judge anyone for feeling! I myself am afraid in this very instant!"

Murmurs broke out amongst the gathered flock.

"I am afraid for the life of every single one of you! I would rather have done this alone, if possible! But Fate has been a ruthless mistress, and I cannot fight this battle by myself! I cannot promise that you will all survive, and truth be told, I doubt you will all be lucky enough to escape this night with your life, or without mental scars that you will carry for the rest of your lives! The things I have done have haunted my dreams for the past years! And the things you will do might haunt you the same! And for that, I am sorry! But such is the price we pay for the Greater Good!"

The Death Eaters had stopped right before they entered the courtyard, and Voldemort was courteous enough that he allowed Harry to finish his speech. For all the things Harry hated about the man, he had to admit that Tom was nothing if not polite and well–mannered… at least, selectively.

"I will fall to Voldemort's hand this night!" he shouted out, eliciting gasps, and making the Death Eaters laugh. Even Voldemort cracked a smile. "BUT I WILL TAKE HIM DOWN WITH ME! WHEN HE AND I ARE GONE, I LEAVE BRITAIN IN YOUR HANDS! I LEAVE YOU TO BUILD A BETTER FUTURE FOR WIZARDING BRITAIN! SHOW EACH OTHER LOVE, AND COMPASSION, AND FRIENDSHIP! BE GOOD AND KIND TO ONE ANOTHER, GIVE TO THOSE IN NEED, BUT ALSO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES!"

With that, a roaring cheer erupted from the Hogwarts Resistance. Applause and whistling and clapping was abound, cries of victory and triumph rang through the night. Harr then turned and headed towards the middle of the courtyard. Voldemort strode forwards as well, a confident smirk on his nearly invisible lips. The two leaders stopped five metres apart.

"I'm glad my invitation reached you, Tom," Harry said with a smile.

"It was too irresistible, Harry," Voldemort dawdled and pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. "'Dearest Tom. It would be my great pleasure to present you with a birthday gift on your birthday, tomorrow. Meet me in the courtyard at Hogwarts at midnight. Hugs and Kisses, Harry James Potter'. How sweet," he added, though his voice was sickly sweet.

"I thought you might appreciate it," Harry chuckled. "My finest piece of writing."

"Indeed, I did."

"You know, I think I understand you," Harry said, and started slowly pacing. "You were conceived under a love potion, and so, you cannot truly feel love. And honestly, I thought I would become another you when I was younger."

There were shocked mutters among the Hogwarts Resistance. Harry was talking to Voldemort like he was an old friend. Not an enemy.

"How so?" Voldemort asked, genuinely curious. His nemesis had just openly admitted that he had once thought of himself as another Voldemort.

"I felt no regard for human life, or free will," Harry said. "You undoubtedly know of my body, what with Coven spilling the beans," Voldemort's eyes widened at the name. "I used to take killing as exercise. I didn't take some perverted pleasure in it, but I didn't see it as a big deal. A man here, a woman there, a toddler for dessert. And when I trained my powers of vampiric compulsion, I started making a game of seeing how far I could push people to go before my domination reached its limit. I even once made a depressed teenager hang himself, but that's beside the point."

Murmurs were abound, both among the Resistance and the Death Eaters.

"So I think I understand, at least a part of you. What I could never comprehend was…" he started looking around, and then turned back to Riddle with arms outstretched, gesturing at the school. "Why world domination? Why Muggle oppression? I could understand if you wanted to become Minister of Magic, or Headmaster of Hogwarts. But _world domination_? I could never quite wrap my head around that."

Voldemort smirked.

"Power. Control. Domination. They are all so… _intoxicating_, don't you think?"

"Yeah, to an extent," Harry admitted with a light nod. "But I would never get used to 'Mr Potter this, Mr Potter that, Mr Potter, problems'. I don't want responsibility, not like that. But I suppose I see your point."

"Lord Voldemort and THE Harry Potter, having a civilised conversation," Tom dawdled out. "The world must be coming to an end."

Harry laughed at the statement.

"Yes, I suppose it wouldn't make sense to others," he said. "But you have felt it, haven't you? In these past years?"

"The kinship," Voldemort said quietly.

"Right," Harry said. "I don't know… it feels like… like we're…"

"Family," Voldemort finished with a knowing nod.

"Exactly," Harry said. "And I could never understand why… but now, I think I do. We are the last of the Peverells."

"And we have the twin cores," Voldemort said.

"And I'm your last remaining horcrux," Harry ended the list.

Voldemort didn't seem surprised.

"And I think you've known for a while now, too," Harry said, frowning lightly. "That night, in the graveyard. The horcrux should have been destroyed, and you should have felt the pain. But it didn't, and you didn't. I was none the wiser, but you… you felt _something_, didn't you?"

"It was _fractured_," Voldemort said. "Alive, but diminished."

"Right. Which is why, you are going to kill me tonight, Tom," Harry said. "You are going to kill me, destroy your horcrux, and I will take you down with me."

"We will see about that, Harry," Voldemort finished and drew his wand.

Harry drew his own and took a stance.

(_**At this point, I seriously cannot recommend putting either "Preliator" or "Lacrimosa Dominae" on repeat, both by Immediate Music, until the battle is over.**_)

"Bow," Voldemort said.

They both bowed to each other.

"Ready," Harry said, and they each took their duelling position.

Harry then raised his wand in the air, and shot a red flare. He and Voldemort flew into actions, and screams were heard from the rear of the Death Eaters; vampires had hidden under the bridge, and jumped up and began killing them. Harry saw Voldemort tighten his lips in fury at the ambush. Harry smiled. Curses and jinxes began flying, as the Death Eaters and Resistance members threw themselves into combat.

"Leave him, he is mine!" both Voldemort roared to each of their forces, perfectly synchronised and in perfectly the same tone.

For now, the bond held tight.

Harry danced and weaved as he threw and dodged spells, and Voldemort deflected and parried as he brought out his overwhelmingly superior duelling skills. Harry played to speed and evasion, whereas Voldemort focused on brute, overwhelming power. Harry then started moving inside the castle and they fought in the corridors. Harry began running, and started hiding around corners. He threw a few surprise spells as he abandoned his covers, but Voldemort kept deflecting and returning his curses. Soon, the halls of the castle were overrun with duellists, Death Eaters and Resistance members fighting to the death. Few fell, as the Death Eaters were getting rusty and had gotten new members, and the Resistance had trained hard to become much better. The playing field had evened.

Harry dodged and weaved stray spells and spells flying from the Dark Lord himself. Once in a while, Harry flicked out his fangs, and tore into a Death Eater's throat, replenishing his rapidly decreasing magical energy, but Voldemort kept coming, looking as stoic as ever. Voldemort truly was in a league of his own, even as Harry had trained like crazy specifically for this encounter for years. The difference in magical ability was so obvious, it was ridiculous, but Harry managed to dodge and avoid, using his werewolf and vampire speed, strength, and endurance to his advantage. He jumped, rolled, flipped and pirouetted through the halls, as Voldemort simply strode with power, authority and majesty.

"The stories about you are true, it seems!" Harry called back. "You are truly a wizard in a class of your own!"

"While I would never call you a competent wizard, you are a phenomenal duellist by way of your physique!" The Dark Lord called back.

A mutual respect between mortal enemies. Harry could find no better enemy to have.

Harry suffered a few cutting and blasting hexes, but the bruised ribs and cuts healed quickly. Voldemort seemed to not be using his darkest arts.

_Not yet, at least_.

Harry didn't manage to land a single curse or hex, but he did avoid the bigger ones Voldemort threw his way. Soon, they reached the Astronomy Tower, and spells whirled around. Harry and Voldemort, now locked in a tight space, where dancing around one another while sending curses and hexes.

"There are no vessels for you to feed on here, Harry!" Voldemort called out. "You did not think your strategy through!"

"You are exactly where I want you!" Harry roared and then sprinted right at the wizard.

With a mighty roar, Harry rammed into his gut and lifted him, before he threw the both of them over the railing of the tower, and they were crashing towards the ground at high speeds. Harry held tightly onto the Dark Lord. If he would apparate or fly to save himself, Harry came with him. If he did nothing, Harry still came with him. Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain in his side, and suddenly let go. Tom turned into a dark cloud and shot away. Harry looked down, and saw a piece of sharpened wood sticking out of his side. He pulled it out and called up the power of his blood. As he fell, his body morphed and shifted, until a slightly–larger–than–average black bat fluttered away from the crash course. Using his powers of swiftness, he shot after the cloud that was Tom Riddle. They made their way to the bridge, and both returned to a humanoid form on it. They instantly threw spells at each other, advancing and retreating like a fencing match. Harry's sharp wit and analytical mind had read him all throughout their battle, and he was now able to keep up with the man, not by way of sheer skill, but by copying his actions. They slowly made their way back towards the courtyard, as Voldemort was the one pressing Harry, even with his newfound footing. They flung their wands to and fro, their spells colliding with the ground when they sidestepped and being flung to the side as deflected, or was simply blocked with a small shield.

As they entered the courtyard once more, there were still fighters there, and the fighters were distracted by the sheer, colossal–scale battle that was happening. Harry might have been far outclassed by Voldemort, but what no one had told him was that he also far outclassed the average Death Eater and Auror, and could pour at least five times as much power into a spell than even Hogwarts professors, and he felt them as _normal_. Fleur and Sirius had decided to hide the fact from him, so as to not blow up his ego and get him killed, but right now, two demi–gods in their own rights were battling a vicious, fast, and highly explosive battle to the death, one which inspired hope and courage in the Resistance. Especially Fleur, who was back up against Harry.

"You alright!?" Harry roared over the spellfire.

"I'm fine! You!?"

"I'm fine!"

"You damn well better be!"

They briefly clasped their off–hands, and then let go and went back to their respective duels. In an instant, Harry reached back and sent a cutting hex at her opponent, and his throat opened instantly. Fleur quickly kissed his cheek and ran off to fight another opponent. Voldemort's eyes chased after Fleur.

"Leave her!" Harry roared.

Voldemort resumed his focus on Harry, and Harry continued fighting. It was tiring and draining, and Harry was almost out of energy. A shrill came from above, and Voldemort and Harry looked up. Fawkes the phoenix came flying by with the sorting hat, and dropped it at Harry's feet.

"Thank you, my friend!" Harry called out with a smile.

Harry quickly erected a small barrier, and sheathed his wand before pulling the Sword of Gryffindor out of the hat. Voldemort broke the barrier, and when he flung a curse at Harry, Harry deflected it using the sword. His magical energy was almost gone, but he could continue physically for hours. The sword deflected and cut through curses like they were arrows, and as Harry swung it, testing out a theory, his eyes widened with hope as the Sword emitted a blue light, and the blasting hex landed right next to Riddle.

"It is a wand, as well!?" Riddle roared with shock.

"I knew it!" Harry shouted, and using his supreme strength as a werewolf and vampire, he effortlessly used it instead of his wand, and cast spells through the unusual focus only rarely.

Their spells clashed, were deflected, and parried, and blocked. After minutes of the fast–paced duel between metaphoric giants, a well–placed disarming charm struck Harry's hands, and the Sword flew from his grasp. He whipped out his wand once more, and the fateful words came out of each of their mouths.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The red and green light clashed once more, as they had three years prior. The molten gold–like substance erupted from the bright ball of energy where their spells collided again, and they were once more locked in a power of wills. The will to destroy, and the will to protect. Hatred and love. Death and life, locked in a struggle for dominance. The combatants roared in strain, desperately trying to force the bright light towards the other. No ghosts appeared this time. This time, it was Tom and Harry, the last of the Peverells, light and darkness. With a mighty roar reminiscent of a lion, Harry forced the ball into the ground, blasting up the stone and creating a cloud of rock and dust. The connection broken, Harry threw his wand to the ground and sped towards the leader of the Dark. He jumped through the dust cloud, his movements enhanced by his vampiric blood. Voldemort could not react as Harry's left arm wrapped around his neck.

"LET'S FINISH THIS THE WAY IT STARTED!" he roared in Tom's face and smiled with tears leaving his eyes, and with his other hand, he held up a brown packet with an electronic device on it, and the letter and number combination of C4 printed on it. "TOGETHER!"

Harry pressed the button, and a mighty explosion, tearing apart the stone they stood on, and blasting the surrounding fighters away, resounded throughout the school.

As the flying stone and dust settled, everything went deadly quiet. No fighting continued. Everyone looked towards the obscured space where the explosion just occurred. The Death Eaters were eager to see their Dark Lord step out of it as if nothing had happened, and the Resistance were anxious to see Harry limp out of it. Soon, the dust and flying rock settled, and there was nothing but pieces of cloth and a white, splintered wand, as well as a fair amount of blood lying in the crater the explosion had created. Fleur, who was just running out of the double doors looked at the spot, her eyes wide and face locked in fear.

"Harry!?" she called. "HARRY!?"

She began screaming and ran towards the spot, but Sirius grabbed a tight hold of her.

"Fleur, don't," he said calmly, though there were tears streaming down his face. "He's gone."

"NOOOOOO!" She screamed in anguish and fought to get out of his grasp. "HE HAS THE MARK! HE CAN'T DIE!"

"Harry managed to remove the Mark just two days ago," came the calm and weathered voice of Albus Dumbledore.

Everyone turned to look at him. He was accompanied by a whole slew of Aurors, and even some from the French Ministry and the MACUSA. Death Eaters were being surrounded and put in magical bindings. Without their Lord, there was nothing to fight for anymore that day.

"Harry discovered that the horcrux within him could not truly die as long as he couldn't, either," Dumbledore said, and while his stature and voice were calm, he too had silent tears rolling down his face. "He had to properly die for Voldemort to die as well. I am sorry, Miss Delacour. The Boy Who Lived… has finally found peace."

Fleur crumpled wordlessly to the ground. Her face was the vision of horror, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she let out half–strangled cries for her fiancé. What remained of the Resistance found places to sit as they digested the information. Harry had been immortal in some way, it seemed. And now, he had sacrificed that to defeat Voldemort, once and for all. Fleur's cries of sorrow rang throughout the grounds like a cursed phoenix's song. The Hogwarts clocktower rang out as they passed the stroke of midnight, truly, the darkest time of the night, and ushered in a new year. And yet, this New Year's Eve was, for some, the worst and best night of their lives. Fawkes flew over the courtyard and let out a hauntingly beautiful song for the dearly departed.

•••

The Great Hall was transformed into an infirmary and a place to store the deceased. Corpses were laid out on stretchers, and grieving friends and family members surrounded them. Charlie and Fred Weasley. Luna Lovegood. Colin and Dennis Creevey. Daphne Greengrass. Terry Boot. Zacharias Smith. Seamus Finnegan. Lavender Brown. Padma and Parvati Patil. Several others, many of which were students, had passed away as well. The Weasley family was gathered around their two boys, and particularly Bill and George were devastated beyond equal. Hermione was comforting the sobbing Ginny nearby. Dumbledore and McGonagall sat on the steps leading to the teachers' table, nursing a nasty cut she had received on her arm. Sirius and Remus sat side by side on a bench, both mourning the boy who had blown himself apart to take out the Dark Lord.

Fleur stood in the Entrance Hall and looked at all the casualties and the grieving. It all felt so surreal to her. She briefly felt a presence in her hand, one trying to hold hers, but she knew it was phantom. And yet, she turned around. Almost as if she had expected to see him, there was no one, and no one had taken hold of her hand. But something felt off. As if, he couldn't be dead.

"Denial is a powerful thing," she heard a voice from back inside the Great Hall, and when she looked, Sirius stood there. "Had it not been for the times I've seen people I care about die, I wouldn't be able to believe it, either."

Tears welled up in her eyes again. She sported a few cuts, and some of her hair had been severed as well. She grabbed it, and then looked at Sirius.

"Would you cut the rest?"

Sirius nodded and raised his wand, and moments later, her hair was cut to right below her chin. He moved to try and at least partially heal her wounds, but she grabbed his hand.

"Let them be."

"But they'll scar i–"

"Exactly," she said with a quiet voice. "I received these wounds battling beside… beside **him**. I will wear them proudly."

With that, her momentary calm faded, and the tears really started rolling again.

"Please bring him back," she muttered and pressed her face into Sirius' chest. "Pleeeeaaase!" she cried.

"Bargaining," Sirius muttered and wrapped his arms around the grieving girl, his own eyes tearing up just a little more. "You're going through the stages fast, kid," he couldn't help the quiet chuckle.

•••

Meerlinda and James sat in the chantry at one of the tables in the foyer. They looked at the knife laying in the middle of the wooden platform. Harry's favourite knife. James was looking sad, but he wasn't crying. Meerlinda's face was as icy as winter in Alaska.

"I suppose this is where we part," James said.

"It is," Meerlinda said icily. "Be sure to recast the Fidelius charm."

"I will," James nodded.

The chair scraped along the stone as he pushed it out from the table, and slowly stood up.

"If you ever need help," he said before he turned around.

"I'll find you," she finished for him.

The door slammed, and silence reigned in the chantry, recently so lively. Meerlinda stood up and walked towards the door to **his** room. She opened it and looked around. This time, she didn't even have a body to put to bed. She slowly walked over, and very carefully laid down on the bed. There, she laid, and relished his scent still permeating the sheets from his recent stay in the chantry again. She wouldn't be seeing him again, however. No jumping out of nowhere, pronouncing 'just kidding!' No more 'I love you'. She no longer had to take care of anyone. In a way, she was free.

_What is freedom when you have no one to spend it with?_

She closed her eyes, and as the sun rose, she also fell asleep, where her charge had slept so many times.

•••

Fleur sat on the edge of the bridge, looking out over the water as the horizon slowly brightened. She momentarily lost her breath when she saw the sun rise over the mountains and shine brilliantly on the surface of the water.

_What a beautiful place to die_, she could almost hear **his** voice say with a smile on his face.

She giggled lightly, and then snorted as her nose was running, and her cheeks were wet from blood, sweat and tears, literally.

"It really is, isn't it?" she asked the cold, lonely wind.

Before she could try and rise, however, a few white crystals began falling. Britain had been suspiciously lacking in snow, despite it now being January 1st. And yet, as she sat there, the first snow fell slowly and carefully. It landed on her shoulders, on her lap, her head… she looked up, and saw many tiny, glinting pieces of pure white.

"Are you crying, too?" she asked a phantom as she looked up into the sky.

She could have sworn she heard a slightly irritated 'no' on the wind, and giggled a little more, before the freshly produced tears paved their way to her eyes, and her shoulders started shaking, yet not from the cold.

"I hope I will see you in another life," she whispered.

With that, Fleur went silent, and merely stared at the sun rising once more over the horizon, as it always had and as it always would, no matter how much one wanted it to stop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived**

Pius Thicknesse was revealed to be under the Imperious curse as he was released from it by the death of Voldemort whilst he was sitting in front of the Heads of several of the Ministry's Departments. He was placed back into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement under the direct supervision of Amelia Bones after it was determined by Auror Alastor Moody that he had been in no control of his own body. Amelia was found bound and tortured in her home, but otherwise of sound mind. Rufus Scrimgeour stepped up and took temporary office as Minister for Magic, until he was replaced permanently by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Dumbledore reassumed office as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Minerva McGonagall stepped back down to Deputy Headmistress.

A memorial service for Harry Potter's final sacrifice was held at Hogwarts, and a life–size marble statue of him was later carved and placed in the centre of the restored courtyard, the very spot where he sacrificed his life to bring down Lord Voldemort. Fleur Isabelle Delacour was given Harry's post–mortem Order of Merlin, First Class, and was given one herself, as well as the title of 'Chevalier' in France for her efforts in securing transport for the persecuted Muggleborns and their families to France, as well as her participation at the Battle of Hogwarts, where she killed four Death Eaters, and defeated several more. Several others who participated were granted honours and medals, and a large portrait of Harry and Fleur was placed in the Great Hall, with a plaque on the frame reading 'Our Saviours'.

A few months after the battle, Britain was still recovering from Voldemort's regime. While it had been short, he had been brutally efficient in his take–over, and the scars ran deep. A list of names written in Harry Potter's hand, as authenticated by Fleur Delacour herself, was found in the pocket of her jeans hours after the hero's death. The list was of every single member of the Death Eaters, which were coerced into the services, and which were under magical influence. Even months after his death, Harry Potter's work could be felt and seen. Exactly thirty days after the battle, an anonymous person released documents drafted by Lucius Abraxes Malfoy, revealing the Ancient and Noble families involved in Voldemort's cause, as well as the extent and nature of their involvement. A small 'HP' in Harry's writing was scratched on the bottom of the final page beside a small smiley which winked with a thumbs–up hand.

Around two years after the battle, Fleur simply disappeared, leaving just a note for her family that she was going to 'find herself' after she had lost her love. No one had raised any questions. It had become public knowledge that Harry had asked her to marry him before his death, and she had said yes. As per the marriage laws of France, and as a special service in the magical communities, Fleur had been allowed to 'marry' Harry after his death, even when there was no body to find. Fleur Isabelle Delacour had become Fleur Isabelle Potter, but she hadn't taken Ladyship of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, nor had she even touched the Potter vaults, except to cancel the apartment Harry had purchased for them. She occasionally exchanged a small amount into British Pounds, and her little sister Gabrielle had commented that she had started living as a Muggle, just like Harry had until he turned thirteen. She was praised to high heavens in the media as a brave warrior and loyal woman, yet no one had been able to find her to get a statement.

Hermione joined the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to promote her S.P.E.W., or Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. It had actually taken off a bit, and many house–elves were now paid a small amount for their services. Hermione was also slowly rising through the ranks of the DRCMC, and stood to take over as Department Head.

Ron Weasley had joined George in running Weasley Wizard Wheezes, since Fred had died during the Battle of Hogwarts. The business had taken off after the dark times of Voldemort had passed. There were rumours going around that he had started dating Hermione.

Ginny Weasley became a professional Quidditch player as chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. She played really well, and quickly became team captain after the current captain suffered a really bad accident during a game. She took the team to new heights, and she was featured as a guest player on England's national team.

Arthur Weasley had been promoted to Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It was established by Rufus Scrimgeour since there had been a period of time where people thought that the defeat of Voldemort was, once again, only temporary, and this time they wouldn't have Harry Potter to save them. As such, counterfeit protective charms and amulets had appeared on the market, driven by fear of the return of the greatest Dark Lord to ever exist.

Gabrielle Delacour had grown up and finished her time at Beauxbatons. Fleur had been seen at the party which was held for her little sister's graduation, happy as ever and in the company of an unknown man with blond hair and blue eyes. Pictures had been taken, showing that Fleur had developed thin, fine scars from the wounds she sustained on her face and neck in the Battle of Hogwarts, and she kept her hair as short as she had asked Sirius to cut it since some had been singed off by curses narrowly missing her skin. When someone talked to the man she was accompanied by, he reportedly talked with a heavy Italian accent. Apparently, Fleur had met him in Florence. Many people were outraged at the news, but Fleur's family seemed to take it well, as did the people around them invited to the party, including the Weasleys, Sirius and Amelia, and Remus and Tonks. No one seemed to have been angry with Fleur for finding a man who made her happy again. Gabrielle then left on a trip around the world with her boyfriend, a certain Kristian Strasbury from England.

The Delacour parents moved to the home Harry had given them as a Christmas present, and Sebastien had become a senior member of the International Confederation of Wizards, seeing as he was father–in–law to Harry Potter, and father to Fleur Potter, not to mention his assistance in the matter of getting refugees from Britain to France.

Remus had married Tonks, and they had started a family. Their son, Edward Harry Lupin, was born a few days before the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry had been named his godfather post–mortem to honour his memory. Remus and Tonks had also begun advocating for the rights of werewolves, and with contacts in the Ministry like Hermione and Sirius, some of the anti–werewolf legislations instated during Fudge's reign had been abolished, making the lives of werewolves much easier.

Sirius had joined the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had quickly become a senior Auror, all his experience during two wars and having brushed up on old Black magic and lore, he quickly became Head Auror when Shacklebolt became Minister for Magic and Alastor Moody retired. He and Amelia had gotten close from working together, as they were both members of the DMLE, and announced their engagement five years after the Battle of Hogwarts.

James Evans had returned to the Auror Office in the MACUSA, but he occasionally visited and helped in larger cases in Britain.

And Meerlinda… well, no one knew what became of her. The new Fidelius charm James cast on her and the chantry ensured it.

But through everything, even after eight whole years of nothing, people still wondered if maybe, just _maybe_, Harry James Potter was still out there, waiting in the shadows for the magical world to need him once again. The more pragmatic were adamant that he could not rise from the dead, but others, more hopeful, were steadfast that he had, indeed, survived the Battle of Hogwarts.

Only Harry himself, if he had indeed survived, would know for certain.

•••

March, 8 years after the Battle of Hogwarts Rome, Italy

"I don't know anything, I swear!" the small man said with desperation.

"It's a simple question, ghoul," Fleur Potter snarled, her hand gripping the front of his shirt tightly. "Where. Is. Your. Domitor?"

The music was thumping throughout the nightclub, and Fleur was in no mood for games with the music hurting her recently heightened hearing. Her hair was still short, there were still a few scars on her face and neck, and she was wearing black, tight jeans, a somewhat low–cut, black tank top, and a black leather jacket with short sleeves, revealing a brand–like mark under her left forearm. The outfit was crowned off with a pair of low–heeled leather boots. Her eyes lit up and glowed bright golden. She pulled back her upper lip and revealed large canines.

"You should know not to keep a hungry wolf waiting."

"Christ, fine!" the small man yelled out. "He's at the construction site that shut down construction a few nights ago! Shit!"

She held him close to her face, making sure he could properly see her sharp teeth.

"If there's nothing there, I will be back."

She then roughly threw him over his desk, into a private bar, and turned around before she sauntered back downstairs. Despite being slightly beaten, and having a bruising back, he couldn't help but admire her behind as she walked away with slightly swaying hips.

•••

Fleur and Catherine walked together down an empty street. They both had serious expressions on their faces and were looking around, clearly looking for someone. They came up on the mentioned construction site, looked at each other, and then nodded. They spread out and went in from separate directions. Fleur slowly and quietly walked through half–finished hallways, listening for hearts and lungs. She counted three or four, beside her own. Her face remained as stoic as ever as she neared the source of the sounds, and she peeked around a corner. She saw seven people, three sitting around a table, each one having a human or near–human bodyguard. They were relatively young men, everyone gathered, but the three at the table were definitely vampires, and the humans might be centuries–old ghouls. Fleur had paid attention when Catherine taught her, however. And she was no ordinary human. Her eyes glowed a dim golden colour, allowing her to see perfectly in the dimly lit room.

"Go!" she shouted, and she ran out from the wall.

She ran up to the closest vampire and pulled a wooden stake out from it's holster under her jacket, strapped to her back. She quickly drove it into the vampire's heart through the back, and then cracked the glass it had sipped blood from on the table, before throwing the very sharp object right into the nearest ghoul's throat. She then pulled out stake number two, and jumped at another vampire. The vampire grabbed her hand and yanked, throwing her off–balance. She was then grabbed by the waist of her pants and the back of her jacket, and hurled through the room. She crashed into a concrete wall, but when she landed, she quickly got back up and pulled out a knife from the third and final holster under her jacket. She was breathing a little heavily as Catherine was making short work of her vampire and the two remaining ghouls. When she was done, she stood back and watched Fleur take on the vampire herself, and Fleur was glad she did. She had spent the past three years training like a madwoman. It was time to see how far she had come.

"Foolish mortal," the vampire said with disgust in it's voice. "You think you can beat me, little ghoul?"

Fleur smiled, adrenalin rushing through her body and exciting her.

"I'm no ghoul, bloodsucker."

She then ran straight at him, using her lycanthropic strength and speed, and stabbed him in the throat with the bayonet. She managed to force him to the ground, and then started hacking the knife into his throat, spraying blood all over herself as the vampire desperately tried healing the wound, but she kept stabbing and hacking, until his spine snapped and his head fell off. He slowly crumpled to nothing but dust, just like the vampire Catherine had taken care of. Fleur was breathing heavily, more from the adrenalin–induced excitement than exertion. She had a little cut on her forehead from a sharp piece of concrete, which healed in mere seconds. She stood up and walked over to the remaining vampire. She then began hacking away at his throat as well, until he too crumpled to dust. Fleur turned to Catherine and looked at her with expectant eyes half covered with stray hair.

"Alright," Catherine said with a small smile, "you are better than I expected."

Fleur grinned and chuckled. She then ran a hand through her rustled hair, pulled it out of her face, and looked around.

"Verdammt," Catherine said. "There's no sign of what they were discussing."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Fleur said, and pointed at the ceiling.

Catherine looked up, and saw some strange symbols drawn in a circle. It was all drawn in blood, but Catherine thought the symbols themselves were more ominous. Fleur pulled out a phone and took a few pictures as Catherine pulled out a torch and pointed it at the symbols. The women then stacked the bodies of the humans neatly and set fire to them. Well, Fleur set fire to them, as Catherine would just start freaking out if she was anywhere near the fire. When Fleur came out to her vampiric mentor, the vampire held out her fist, and Fleur bumped it.

"You still happy with being the same thing as him?" she asked carefully.

"It took some getting used to," Fleur admitted with a small sigh. "The sounds and lights," she waved her finger around, a little unsure what to do with it, "are still a little… strong. I never imagined that he'd always hungered for my blood, though. I still _feel_ the pulses and the… the blood, around me. It isn't as strong as it used to be, but…"

"Well, James said that he had refined the ritual," Catherine said understandingly. "Purged the weaknesses, enhanced the powers… I can't blame you for a little sensory overload. I'll see you tomorrow night," Catherine said with a small smile.

"See you," Fleur responded with a smile of her own, and the two women headed in their separate directions.

•••

Fleur entered the small apartment, where the lights were on, and someone was in the bathroom.

"Everything go okay?" a male voice in a thick, Italian accent came from inside.

"Kind of," Fleur answered. "I need you to take a look at some symbols we found at the site."

She sat down on the couch, her back facing towards the bathroom door. The man from the bathroom walked out and placed his hands on her shoulders and started rubbing them. Fleur moaned in pleasure at the skilled ministrations of the hands.

"Could I perhaps interest you in some entertainment first, Mrs Potter?"

"Mmm, definitely," she replied with a smile and eyes closed, relishing the touch, "Mr Potter."

The man's blond hair slowly turned black, and blue eyes slowly faded to bright green as Harry leant over and started trailing warm kisses down Fleur's neck, and she hummed in pleasure at the sensation.

"How about the bedroom?" he whispered in her ear, now in his native English dialect and sending chills down her spine.

"Thought you would never ask," she replied, and quickly stood from the couch.

She eagerly jumped over the back of the sofa and was caught in **his** arms. Her legs closed around his back, and her arms around his shoulders. His hands held her up by her tight derriere, and he chuckled into her lips on his, making her giggle. He then carried her to the bedroom and fell forwards on the bed, making her shriek at the sudden fall, but instants later she was laughing as he started tickling her.

•••

"Do you ever think about going back to England?" Fleur asked as she cuddled against Harry, both naked under the covers of the bed, and both having worked up a sweat from the intense lovemaking.

Before, Harry could easily outlast her. Now, with the enhancements, he could still outlast her, but she could last for hours.

"Once in a while," Harry admitted as he absentmindedly stroked her head. "Then I remember that they think that I'm dead."

"It wouldn't be the first time you came back from the dead," she pointed out. She started gently kissing his shoulder and chest, before moving up to his jaw.

"True," he said and gave her a few chaste kisses as her lips captured his. "How about this summer?" he asked. "We could surprise them and go work at Hogwarts, together? Be a real shocker for the kids," he started chuckling.

"I think I'd like that," Fleur said and looked him deeply in the eyes. "Nothing can hurt us this time."

Harry took her left hand with his right and lifted their linked hands. They then looked at the identical Marks of Cain, his on the right arm, hers on the left. He then returned his gaze to hers.

"I will love you for as long as I walk this Earth," he muttered.

"And I will love you even longer, _mon amour_," she whispered.

"Touché."

They shared another long gaze into each other's eyes, just relishing the prospect of spending forever with the love of their now eternal lives. They then closed their eyes and joined together for another kiss, which rapidly heated up to another intense few hours of unimaginable euphoria, sealed by whimpered declarations of everlasting love between moans and cries of pleasure.

•••

1 week after the Battle of Hogwarts Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

Harry sat on the deck of the fishing boat, right beside the steel coffin. His golden eyes looked out over the dark ocean, and the rain did little to deter him. The cold was bearable, and the boy was in a generally otherwise good mood. He looked back towards the captain of the vessel.

"Are we there!?" he called loudly over the rain, thunder and rough waters.

"Yeup!" the captain shouted back.

Harry smiled as he got up and opened the coffin. Inside lay a snow–white man with rather serpentine features. A wooden stake was sticking out of his stake.

"Good evening, Tom," Harry called with a laugh.

The man's eyes shot open and glared furiously at Harry, yet the former wizard couldn't move an inch.

"Looks like it's time to go," Harry kept laughing, "but it was a little fun, at the very least. Now, look into my eyes."

Tom glared into Harry's eyes, and Harry then projected what he knew to be the old wizard's worst nightmares into his head, putting the fledgling vampire into torpor and forcing him to witness his greatest fear over and over and over again. Harry then pulled out a few more stakes and stabbed them all into the area around his heart… better safe than sorry. Harry then closed the steel casket and locked the heavy chains around it, not to mention that there was almost a metric ton of weights in the bottom of the coffin. With a few spells, he made sure that the coffin would never be opened again, and then with a mighty roar of victory and relief, he pushed the ton–heavy coffin off the boat and into this deep trench of the ocean. He watched as it quickly sank, rendering him unable to see it. Harry smiled and turned back towards the captain.

"Let's go home, Captain!" he roared.

"Aye, let's!"

Harry stood on the deck and looked towards the direction they had come from. He was now free. Voldemort would _never_ be a bother again.


End file.
